***sigh***
I'm thinking most, if not all of you, who read this blog know me at least a little bit. Good days and bad days, I continue to throw my life into chaos in attempts to find another foreign corner of the world because I love it. Even in my worst moments, where I hate everything and everyone, I know and you know that the moment always passes, the negative energy that was surrounding me clears and I have yet to hop on a plane and run back home. If I have ever found myself in a place that I truly didn't like (Pai, in North Thailand), I move on. I don't stay to write and complain and suffer through. I simply move on to the next amazing adventure.
I'm still here in Pemba because I am finding it interesting, full of potential, and a good challenge for me and my soul. I know very well that I'm not the brightest bulb in the box, but whatever I write are opinions, simply my opinions as I vent to friends and family in my process of learning and growing. Maybe they are ignorant, misinformed opinions, but in no way am I discouraging tourism to this charming island, trying to dissuade others from coming, putting western life on a pedestal, or being naive about the ways of the world where I come from. Yes, this is a public blog and I link it to my facebook but it's a blog. It is opinion. These are my experiences and my thoughts. By no means am I intending to shine a negative spotlight on my newest home. As I said before... those of you who know me, know that I wouldn't still be here if I didn't think it was worth every second of it, good and bad.
If anyone reads my story and gets a knot in their stomach feeling that somehow I am doing an injustice to this small island off the coast of a very big country, please stop nitpicking, please stop focusing on one or two lines and read the whole story, or please stop reading. Send me an email if you think I'm being unfair, but remember, this is MY blog, these are MY feelings, these are MY experiences, and for those simple reasons, there really isn't anything wrong with what I'm sharing. I'm fumbling through, as I did through Asia, and I'm bound to make mistakes. I will share those mistakes here. There are amazing and intelligent people who read my thoughts on this blog. If my facts are wrong or if I'm misquoting bits of information, I'll either eventually figure it out and correct myself or those intelligent people reading this will send me a note and ask me to clarify. Take a deep breath, remember that this is all new to me, and just let me enjoy the ride.
Thanks.
Janice
Monday, January 25, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
My "African" home
Swahili Divers, my current abode, is a world of it's own. Food, fuel, and supplies are brought in by oxcart or ratty pieces of pulled together vehicles, power is available in the evenings via a tempermental generator, water is pumped from a main water line into our tanks that fill with their gravity favourable designs, and meals are cooked over charcoal and propane in one of the most frightening but functioning kitchens I have ever had the chance to see. Lovely basic guest huts, a crammed and littered office, a well run dive shop, and a mismatched bunch of white faces holding it all together steps from the very big sea. The tide changes are significant, ranging from having the waves at your toes just off the grassy front or walking out in ankle deep water for 20 minutes just to get to the anchored dive boats. Sandy bits, lots of sharp coral and rocky floor and the ever despised sea urchins multiplying daily, lying in wait to pierce the next unsuspecting water baby. I have yet to go barefoot around this place. The seaview of every shade between blue and green goes on forever, the sky is so big at night that you can see the curve of the earth and if you walk far enough away from the huts and electricity, you can actually see the different colours of yellows and oranges in the stars. I've never seen that before. Dizzying. Mesmering. Our property is fenced in, chain linked all the way around except at the beachfront. Just at the edges, where my front door looks through very thick bush out onto a farmer's field, I can hear and see and smell a very different world, even in the black of night. I'm not sure if it's the lingering fear of my shadow monster encounter or a genuine instinct telling me that crossing that line in the darkness is unwise, but when the sun is down, even inside the security of our fenced in boundary lines, I don't go far without a dog by my side.
I had a conversation with a Kiwi instructor who arrived here a couple of weeks ago and plans to stay and work for a while. He has been travelling through Africa for six months, initially by bicycle and most recently by motorbike after he finally realized how massively overwhelming this size of this continent really is. He was alone for parts of his travels but with a friend or two for most of the trip. Talking about finding and seeing places where white faces just don't go - the hassle, the stares, the complete isolation and adventure was everything I want for my own story, but unless I find two male travel partners, it will not happen. Even he, a self-sufficient, easy-going guy, was thankful for what proved to be necessary and often life-saving company most of the way. Quite simply, this is not a place that any woman could travel easily on her own, especially one who is all of just over 5 feet tall. Hassles aside, life is cheap here and a female life is the most disposable kind. When I think back to my initial hesitation of travelling SE Asia on my own I laugh at how easy it was and how the majority of my fears were completely unwarranted. Here, it's just different. So very different. I remember people telling me that getting around Asia was easy, I was worrying for nothing, but here, the tales and experienced wisdom say something else. It's hard, it's dangerous, and it's not something I should do on my own. Period. I want to travel here but I'm not sure where I start. I don't want to do the hopping from aid agency to aid agency, the stories and opinions of the value of these things here could fill pages, so I will keep asking questions of those who know best. Then, if I do find my way, I will be behind locked doors by nightfall. That's just the way it goes. The night markets were one of my most favourite Asian pasttimes but we're not in Asia anymore, Dorothy. I've put it out there, to the universe, and on my last big trip, all kinds of things seemed to simply fall into place. I'm hoping that my luck will continue for the next bunch of opportunities. In the meantime, I'll practice my spear throwing technique. Just in case.
Mkangale Village
Heading out of our chain linked fence, following a dirt path large enough for an oxcart and just maybe a vehicle if all limbs are inside and the patches of small trees that sporadically line the path are in need of a bit of pruning, you can stroll through a strange plot of farming field, some tended to, some not, some thriving patches, some wilted and neglected. There are a couple of strange rock quarries in the open fields on either side of this path that are being hammered and hacked at as piles of white, dusty boulders are smashed and thrown out of a large pit onto a growing pile along side. I think this is used for building structures, I'm not sure. I'll have to ask. Dry, dusty fields randomly give way to an enormous burst of the deepest green mushrooming leafy tree that looks so out of place and completely full of life. I think they're wild almond trees - huge, inedible nuts, not our kind of almonds. I passed one of the biggest trees I have ever seen and immediately thought of The Tree of Life, from what? The Lion King? I don't know. There was some kind of Disney theme playing in my head. There's that huge tree in Victoria on the Leg. grounds that everyone has had their picture taken in front of, it's just so, so big. This tree, in the middle of this seemingly barren farming field, dwarfs that Victoria tree hands down. Such a bizarre contrast. Maybe that's why the fields are so dry, because these random trees have sucked up everything within reach? Who knows. But I really, really, REALLY need a camera. Damn shadow monster a@@munch.
Bahahahahaha!!! A rat just fell from our thatched roof ceiling and splatted on the concrete floor. Didn't kill itself but definitely rang his bell. Currently hiding under the solid table that is being set with food for our buffet lunch. Oh island life.
Okay, sorry. Back to the village...
It's only about a kilometre until you reach the first sprinking of mud and clay huts, topped with thatched rooves, thrown like a handful of jacks. No order, no reason. Small but solid, could be brand new or 100 years old. Impossible for me to tell. As I came into an open "developed" area where there were more of these huts, some of them getting bigger, some of them obviously better made, the children start to surface. Those who aren't in school. In tattered clothing, covered in dust, they run closer but nowhere near close enough for me to actually get a good look at their smiling and shouting faces. It's like an invisible boundary stopped them dead in their tracks. Mzungu, white person from the dive resort, go no closer. Funniest thing... as they all giggle and wave and climb over each other to shout louder... they all yell "bye! bye!" Bye bye??? I've never heard this. Lots of versions of "Hellooooo!" or "what's your name?" or other kinds of greetings, but this is the first place I've encountered all of the children, all of them, waving and shouting "bye! bye!" You could see that they meant it as a greeting, but it was just weird.
It's about 8:30am so the "roads", bigger dirt paths, that cut through the "stores", houses that sell things, are filling with people walking here and there as the school boys skitter around in their royal blue trousers and whitish coloured shirts, girls in the same colours but ground length skirts and waist length ?hijabs? (a square piece of material with a circle cut out - you can see their faces poking through but they are completely covered from their hair, under their chin and it falls loosely over their shoulders and down. They look like ghost costumes from behind.) Shy but curious, these children come closer, so many of them heading towards the school, and they say "hello" or "what's your name?" Some want a reply, some just want to hear the words coming out of their months before they hurry away. Very, very cute. A group of three little girls who couldn't have been more than 10, were quite confident in their approach, followed me for quite some time, then began to taunt and giggle as they chirped away in Swahili. Don't have a clue what they wanted or what they were saying, but they thought I was pretty funny looking, I guess. Loads and loads of children. They all were heading to the school, but no one seemed to be on any kind of schedule that I could make out. I'm thinking structure isn't too much of a concern here.
I poked my head into the open space and yard that contains the three concrete bunkers placed in a U-shape... the school. Children everywhere, inside and out, going from one room to the next, wandering around, and chatting to each other. Was greeted by a few older students and I asked if a teacher was around. Nice man, looked maybe 20 himself, told me that they had 1000 students and 19 teachers. Not sure how accurate his numbers are, perhaps they see some students on one day and others on the next. Did not see any other teachers. He seemed keen to have me come and help. I smiled and nodded, he gave me his number and asked me to call so he could set up a meeting with the headmaster, I said I would have to see how things go on my "holiday". People talk. I am NOT working. I am here on a dive holiday. It was before 9am - I thought maybe school hadn't started yet. It looked like our schools at recess time.
Tucked the phone number in my pocket and made my way out. Didn't want to get sucked into anything. Continued to stroll through the village. Lots of smiles and hellos, a few clingers, but ignoring them sent them on their way, and more dirt encrusted children, not in school but sitting idly in small groups along the sides of the road. Maybe their parents were working, maybe they were in the houses or walking to get food, not really sure, but the younger ones clung to the older ones. Despite the dirt and dust, snotty noses, and tatters, they all seemed to be happy. They all waved and shouted their "bye! bye!" It was such a strange sight. Muslim village so all of the women were covered in beautifully coloured scarves (kangas). I felt rather undressed in my mid-calf capris and t-shirt but the thought of more clothing, even for the sake of fewer stares, was stifling. The sun bakes you, even at 8 in the morning.
One eager to speak young man who said he had finished school tried to answer some of my questions - said the kids to go school from 7 - 9am then head home for an hour tea break, come back to school and finish the day at 1pm. Didn't really fit with the number of children I saw heading to school and the timeline but then again, what do I care? Their schedule is their schedule. I'm sure they've got it worked out. He showed me the "clinic" which was essentially wooden benches lined with women and children waiting on who knows what and some of the "shops". Then he asked me for my silver ring and decided to move on when I said no. Wasn't the least bit surprised. Very casual, just thought he'd ask. Why not?
All of the people I passed, men, women, and children, were all so smiley and friendly but most definitely kept their distance. No one wanted to shake my hand or walk with me, some wanted to practice the few english words they know and shout out Swahili greetings, but other wise, it was just smiles and waves to the strange white girl cruising through town. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I need to head out there, much more often, to see if I can get some of them to cross that white man boundary. This is our home, that is their home. The division was painfully clear. I guess it will always be that way, a white man's business in an African man's home. I can't imagine how things must look from their perspective, how strange it must all be. I remember how much I loved being part of my little Thai town. Knowing faces in the market and my laundry lady and my motorbike taxi drivers... I was part of them. I don't think that will be an option here. But I will try...
My next big plan, to take local transport into "town", Chake Chake. It's where the airport is, I guess just a smidge of civilization, an hour away from here. Will plan to go soon and let you all know how it goes. Need to brush up on my Swahili greetings first, but want to head out and make a day of it as soon as I can. This place is amazing, but I can only sit still for so long. Coming up on a month here... unreal. Love you all. xoxo
I had a conversation with a Kiwi instructor who arrived here a couple of weeks ago and plans to stay and work for a while. He has been travelling through Africa for six months, initially by bicycle and most recently by motorbike after he finally realized how massively overwhelming this size of this continent really is. He was alone for parts of his travels but with a friend or two for most of the trip. Talking about finding and seeing places where white faces just don't go - the hassle, the stares, the complete isolation and adventure was everything I want for my own story, but unless I find two male travel partners, it will not happen. Even he, a self-sufficient, easy-going guy, was thankful for what proved to be necessary and often life-saving company most of the way. Quite simply, this is not a place that any woman could travel easily on her own, especially one who is all of just over 5 feet tall. Hassles aside, life is cheap here and a female life is the most disposable kind. When I think back to my initial hesitation of travelling SE Asia on my own I laugh at how easy it was and how the majority of my fears were completely unwarranted. Here, it's just different. So very different. I remember people telling me that getting around Asia was easy, I was worrying for nothing, but here, the tales and experienced wisdom say something else. It's hard, it's dangerous, and it's not something I should do on my own. Period. I want to travel here but I'm not sure where I start. I don't want to do the hopping from aid agency to aid agency, the stories and opinions of the value of these things here could fill pages, so I will keep asking questions of those who know best. Then, if I do find my way, I will be behind locked doors by nightfall. That's just the way it goes. The night markets were one of my most favourite Asian pasttimes but we're not in Asia anymore, Dorothy. I've put it out there, to the universe, and on my last big trip, all kinds of things seemed to simply fall into place. I'm hoping that my luck will continue for the next bunch of opportunities. In the meantime, I'll practice my spear throwing technique. Just in case.
Mkangale Village
Heading out of our chain linked fence, following a dirt path large enough for an oxcart and just maybe a vehicle if all limbs are inside and the patches of small trees that sporadically line the path are in need of a bit of pruning, you can stroll through a strange plot of farming field, some tended to, some not, some thriving patches, some wilted and neglected. There are a couple of strange rock quarries in the open fields on either side of this path that are being hammered and hacked at as piles of white, dusty boulders are smashed and thrown out of a large pit onto a growing pile along side. I think this is used for building structures, I'm not sure. I'll have to ask. Dry, dusty fields randomly give way to an enormous burst of the deepest green mushrooming leafy tree that looks so out of place and completely full of life. I think they're wild almond trees - huge, inedible nuts, not our kind of almonds. I passed one of the biggest trees I have ever seen and immediately thought of The Tree of Life, from what? The Lion King? I don't know. There was some kind of Disney theme playing in my head. There's that huge tree in Victoria on the Leg. grounds that everyone has had their picture taken in front of, it's just so, so big. This tree, in the middle of this seemingly barren farming field, dwarfs that Victoria tree hands down. Such a bizarre contrast. Maybe that's why the fields are so dry, because these random trees have sucked up everything within reach? Who knows. But I really, really, REALLY need a camera. Damn shadow monster a@@munch.
Bahahahahaha!!! A rat just fell from our thatched roof ceiling and splatted on the concrete floor. Didn't kill itself but definitely rang his bell. Currently hiding under the solid table that is being set with food for our buffet lunch. Oh island life.
Okay, sorry. Back to the village...
It's only about a kilometre until you reach the first sprinking of mud and clay huts, topped with thatched rooves, thrown like a handful of jacks. No order, no reason. Small but solid, could be brand new or 100 years old. Impossible for me to tell. As I came into an open "developed" area where there were more of these huts, some of them getting bigger, some of them obviously better made, the children start to surface. Those who aren't in school. In tattered clothing, covered in dust, they run closer but nowhere near close enough for me to actually get a good look at their smiling and shouting faces. It's like an invisible boundary stopped them dead in their tracks. Mzungu, white person from the dive resort, go no closer. Funniest thing... as they all giggle and wave and climb over each other to shout louder... they all yell "bye! bye!" Bye bye??? I've never heard this. Lots of versions of "Hellooooo!" or "what's your name?" or other kinds of greetings, but this is the first place I've encountered all of the children, all of them, waving and shouting "bye! bye!" You could see that they meant it as a greeting, but it was just weird.
It's about 8:30am so the "roads", bigger dirt paths, that cut through the "stores", houses that sell things, are filling with people walking here and there as the school boys skitter around in their royal blue trousers and whitish coloured shirts, girls in the same colours but ground length skirts and waist length ?hijabs? (a square piece of material with a circle cut out - you can see their faces poking through but they are completely covered from their hair, under their chin and it falls loosely over their shoulders and down. They look like ghost costumes from behind.) Shy but curious, these children come closer, so many of them heading towards the school, and they say "hello" or "what's your name?" Some want a reply, some just want to hear the words coming out of their months before they hurry away. Very, very cute. A group of three little girls who couldn't have been more than 10, were quite confident in their approach, followed me for quite some time, then began to taunt and giggle as they chirped away in Swahili. Don't have a clue what they wanted or what they were saying, but they thought I was pretty funny looking, I guess. Loads and loads of children. They all were heading to the school, but no one seemed to be on any kind of schedule that I could make out. I'm thinking structure isn't too much of a concern here.
I poked my head into the open space and yard that contains the three concrete bunkers placed in a U-shape... the school. Children everywhere, inside and out, going from one room to the next, wandering around, and chatting to each other. Was greeted by a few older students and I asked if a teacher was around. Nice man, looked maybe 20 himself, told me that they had 1000 students and 19 teachers. Not sure how accurate his numbers are, perhaps they see some students on one day and others on the next. Did not see any other teachers. He seemed keen to have me come and help. I smiled and nodded, he gave me his number and asked me to call so he could set up a meeting with the headmaster, I said I would have to see how things go on my "holiday". People talk. I am NOT working. I am here on a dive holiday. It was before 9am - I thought maybe school hadn't started yet. It looked like our schools at recess time.
Tucked the phone number in my pocket and made my way out. Didn't want to get sucked into anything. Continued to stroll through the village. Lots of smiles and hellos, a few clingers, but ignoring them sent them on their way, and more dirt encrusted children, not in school but sitting idly in small groups along the sides of the road. Maybe their parents were working, maybe they were in the houses or walking to get food, not really sure, but the younger ones clung to the older ones. Despite the dirt and dust, snotty noses, and tatters, they all seemed to be happy. They all waved and shouted their "bye! bye!" It was such a strange sight. Muslim village so all of the women were covered in beautifully coloured scarves (kangas). I felt rather undressed in my mid-calf capris and t-shirt but the thought of more clothing, even for the sake of fewer stares, was stifling. The sun bakes you, even at 8 in the morning.
One eager to speak young man who said he had finished school tried to answer some of my questions - said the kids to go school from 7 - 9am then head home for an hour tea break, come back to school and finish the day at 1pm. Didn't really fit with the number of children I saw heading to school and the timeline but then again, what do I care? Their schedule is their schedule. I'm sure they've got it worked out. He showed me the "clinic" which was essentially wooden benches lined with women and children waiting on who knows what and some of the "shops". Then he asked me for my silver ring and decided to move on when I said no. Wasn't the least bit surprised. Very casual, just thought he'd ask. Why not?
All of the people I passed, men, women, and children, were all so smiley and friendly but most definitely kept their distance. No one wanted to shake my hand or walk with me, some wanted to practice the few english words they know and shout out Swahili greetings, but other wise, it was just smiles and waves to the strange white girl cruising through town. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I need to head out there, much more often, to see if I can get some of them to cross that white man boundary. This is our home, that is their home. The division was painfully clear. I guess it will always be that way, a white man's business in an African man's home. I can't imagine how things must look from their perspective, how strange it must all be. I remember how much I loved being part of my little Thai town. Knowing faces in the market and my laundry lady and my motorbike taxi drivers... I was part of them. I don't think that will be an option here. But I will try...
My next big plan, to take local transport into "town", Chake Chake. It's where the airport is, I guess just a smidge of civilization, an hour away from here. Will plan to go soon and let you all know how it goes. Need to brush up on my Swahili greetings first, but want to head out and make a day of it as soon as I can. This place is amazing, but I can only sit still for so long. Coming up on a month here... unreal. Love you all. xoxo
Friday, January 22, 2010
Lonely Day
Since I'm having a bit of an "I'm lonely" day, I figured this blog is a handy little way to try to perk up those itty bitty blues. Feeling like I'm talking to home, telling stories, and catching you all up is a great way to feel connected. So where should I start filling you in?
Things I'm learning...
There is absolutely nothing I can do about the spiders, big and small, that roam around here. I've taken to sharing my space (more like jumping back and giving them their space) or gently encouraging my doggie friends to take note of the tasty little treat I kindly point out to them.
No matter how badly I smell, boys will always smell much, much worse.
Politics are politics and they are everywhere. Being asked to do something for several days then getting my fingers smacked for doing it voluntarily is just the way it goes. Smile and nod, then shrug it off. Everyone needs to feel that they are top dog some of the time.
Moody people waste a lot of their time being moody. This is definitely a western issue. I can't change them, no use in letting them bring me down too. My goodness it must be exhausting!
The second I sit down with my cool little laptop, I will be asked to do 17 different things by 17 different people. I've done 8 things so far...
Chocolate, when deprived of it for long periods of time, becomes the holy grail. Seriously. I need some chocolate.
I really, really, REALLY don't like dirty feet. I have dirty feel ALL the time here. It's driving me crazy!!
Swahili is easy but I'm an idiot.
Now on to... Tales from the deep blue...
Had a chance to do a couple more dives and got to finally REALLY experience some amazing sites, pain free, completely in control and comfortable. It's funny that I did my DM certification for the simple reason that I needed to gain some control over my fear of the water but somewhere back there, that fear still rears it's controlling and UUUGGGGLY head from time to time. First few dives tend to be rough and awkward mixed with minor bouts of panic; I think I had a tank with bad air one day as the surfacing migraine was blinding, but this most recent day, two dives in two incredible spots, was just... *sigh*... splendid. Absolutely deeeeee-vine!!! Describing the fish, the coral, the living mountains and changing seas is just impossible. You see so much, it's all so beautiful, and the feeling of breathing under water will remain out of this world. So instead, I will comment on the strange one or two things that may stand out. And there were a couple. (of COURSE there were!)
First dive, I was asked to stay with a relatively new diver at a relatively shallower depth while the working DM took a couple of other divers a little deeper down to look for whatever they might find (they were mostly looking for rays). Sure, no problem, kinda fun to be a bit of a guide again, and my little diver buddy was more than competent. 10 minutes into the dive, levelled off at about 20m, I look up and... jackpot! I squeal, scream, scooch over to grab my diver, and point up, jabbing emphatically towards the reef about 10m above and in front of us. "Look! Look! Look! Do you see? Do you see? Do you see?!" (yes, I have mastered the art of conversation with my regulator in). A good sized eagle ray was gracefully making his rounds above our heads. Underwater dance, fist pumps, and high fives as I shook my head and giggled a bit. I looked at the divers down below who missed the whole show. Sorry 'bout your luck kids.
Second dive, hmmm... a little more challenging and interesting. There are no distinction between dive sites and fishing sites here. Food is scarce so the locals need to eat by whatever means necessary. This, of course, wreaks some havoc with the diving community for a few different reasons. One, they fish in excess, obviously taking more than they would ever need or could ever eat (most reef fish aren't edible), two, they have no consideration for the very fragile coral and reefs, so much damage is done in the process of gathering their regular slaughter, and finally, the methods they use to fish are barbaric and unsafe on so many different levels. Case in point... swimming along, amazing site, clear turquoise water, fantastic reefs, TONS to see, and shhh... listen... I can hear the faint whine of a speeding motor quickly closing in. Suddenly a boat flies by overhead, despite our dive boat making it clear that divers are below and our diving markers are visible in the water. Our DM for this dive is a bit of a speedy diver so he was way off ahead of us somewhere, and three divers and I were checking out some pretty cool fish in some pretty cool coral. Somehow, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash, a glimmer, a something that causes me to turn my head upwards. Holy crap. An enormous net, and I mean ENORMOUS net, is dropping fast, directly over our heads. I can see the dumb fishermen, and yes, they are dumb, in their snorkels and masks, looking down at us as they continue to untangle the net so it covers more scoop and grab area, Not the least bit concerned that we may be the catch of the day. I discovered that I have a previously unused motor. Whrrrrrrrr... I swim over to my closest diver, grab him by his BCD (jacket thingy for diving), pull his head out of the rock he was looking under, point up to the net, do my gesturing to fin like the devil off to the side and give him a good shove. Whrrrrrr... off to diver number two, repeat, then diver number three and me. Heart racing, somewhat out of breath (these were three big boys I had to shove around), I look back over my shoulder to see the net continuing its slow descent. Oh. My. Gosh.
I talked to Raf about it when we were back on the boat. He was diving behind us and saw what was happening. Wasn't sure if I was overreacting, maybe nets get dropped over divers all the time, I was just panicking??? But he said nope, hasn't happened to him before, he hates the fisherman around here, good call on my part. "Good call" nothing! It was just GULP! we're gonna get caught in a net - I don't want to be on the menu tonight - get the hell out of here - gut reaction. Good times, good times, good times. Even diving in Africa, there is always some kind of drama! :)
It has taken me almost three hours to write this... I have done FAR more than 17 different things in the middle of writing this blog. Far more.
That being said, my battery is low so I have to go recharge it. Remind me to tell you about my stroll into our nearby village. Finally got to see a bit of Africa...
Things I'm learning...
There is absolutely nothing I can do about the spiders, big and small, that roam around here. I've taken to sharing my space (more like jumping back and giving them their space) or gently encouraging my doggie friends to take note of the tasty little treat I kindly point out to them.
No matter how badly I smell, boys will always smell much, much worse.
Politics are politics and they are everywhere. Being asked to do something for several days then getting my fingers smacked for doing it voluntarily is just the way it goes. Smile and nod, then shrug it off. Everyone needs to feel that they are top dog some of the time.
Moody people waste a lot of their time being moody. This is definitely a western issue. I can't change them, no use in letting them bring me down too. My goodness it must be exhausting!
The second I sit down with my cool little laptop, I will be asked to do 17 different things by 17 different people. I've done 8 things so far...
Chocolate, when deprived of it for long periods of time, becomes the holy grail. Seriously. I need some chocolate.
I really, really, REALLY don't like dirty feet. I have dirty feel ALL the time here. It's driving me crazy!!
Swahili is easy but I'm an idiot.
Now on to... Tales from the deep blue...
Had a chance to do a couple more dives and got to finally REALLY experience some amazing sites, pain free, completely in control and comfortable. It's funny that I did my DM certification for the simple reason that I needed to gain some control over my fear of the water but somewhere back there, that fear still rears it's controlling and UUUGGGGLY head from time to time. First few dives tend to be rough and awkward mixed with minor bouts of panic; I think I had a tank with bad air one day as the surfacing migraine was blinding, but this most recent day, two dives in two incredible spots, was just... *sigh*... splendid. Absolutely deeeeee-vine!!! Describing the fish, the coral, the living mountains and changing seas is just impossible. You see so much, it's all so beautiful, and the feeling of breathing under water will remain out of this world. So instead, I will comment on the strange one or two things that may stand out. And there were a couple. (of COURSE there were!)
First dive, I was asked to stay with a relatively new diver at a relatively shallower depth while the working DM took a couple of other divers a little deeper down to look for whatever they might find (they were mostly looking for rays). Sure, no problem, kinda fun to be a bit of a guide again, and my little diver buddy was more than competent. 10 minutes into the dive, levelled off at about 20m, I look up and... jackpot! I squeal, scream, scooch over to grab my diver, and point up, jabbing emphatically towards the reef about 10m above and in front of us. "Look! Look! Look! Do you see? Do you see? Do you see?!" (yes, I have mastered the art of conversation with my regulator in). A good sized eagle ray was gracefully making his rounds above our heads. Underwater dance, fist pumps, and high fives as I shook my head and giggled a bit. I looked at the divers down below who missed the whole show. Sorry 'bout your luck kids.
Second dive, hmmm... a little more challenging and interesting. There are no distinction between dive sites and fishing sites here. Food is scarce so the locals need to eat by whatever means necessary. This, of course, wreaks some havoc with the diving community for a few different reasons. One, they fish in excess, obviously taking more than they would ever need or could ever eat (most reef fish aren't edible), two, they have no consideration for the very fragile coral and reefs, so much damage is done in the process of gathering their regular slaughter, and finally, the methods they use to fish are barbaric and unsafe on so many different levels. Case in point... swimming along, amazing site, clear turquoise water, fantastic reefs, TONS to see, and shhh... listen... I can hear the faint whine of a speeding motor quickly closing in. Suddenly a boat flies by overhead, despite our dive boat making it clear that divers are below and our diving markers are visible in the water. Our DM for this dive is a bit of a speedy diver so he was way off ahead of us somewhere, and three divers and I were checking out some pretty cool fish in some pretty cool coral. Somehow, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash, a glimmer, a something that causes me to turn my head upwards. Holy crap. An enormous net, and I mean ENORMOUS net, is dropping fast, directly over our heads. I can see the dumb fishermen, and yes, they are dumb, in their snorkels and masks, looking down at us as they continue to untangle the net so it covers more scoop and grab area, Not the least bit concerned that we may be the catch of the day. I discovered that I have a previously unused motor. Whrrrrrrrr... I swim over to my closest diver, grab him by his BCD (jacket thingy for diving), pull his head out of the rock he was looking under, point up to the net, do my gesturing to fin like the devil off to the side and give him a good shove. Whrrrrrr... off to diver number two, repeat, then diver number three and me. Heart racing, somewhat out of breath (these were three big boys I had to shove around), I look back over my shoulder to see the net continuing its slow descent. Oh. My. Gosh.
I talked to Raf about it when we were back on the boat. He was diving behind us and saw what was happening. Wasn't sure if I was overreacting, maybe nets get dropped over divers all the time, I was just panicking??? But he said nope, hasn't happened to him before, he hates the fisherman around here, good call on my part. "Good call" nothing! It was just GULP! we're gonna get caught in a net - I don't want to be on the menu tonight - get the hell out of here - gut reaction. Good times, good times, good times. Even diving in Africa, there is always some kind of drama! :)
It has taken me almost three hours to write this... I have done FAR more than 17 different things in the middle of writing this blog. Far more.
That being said, my battery is low so I have to go recharge it. Remind me to tell you about my stroll into our nearby village. Finally got to see a bit of Africa...
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Habari gani?
Habari zenu? That's it. That's my Swahili. I suck. I know thank you and water, and my first important word... buibui (boo-ee boo-ee), yep, spider. You'll all be happy to know that I've managed surprisingly well (knock on wood) and have only had a few jumps and squeaks despite the nasty creatures popping up here and there and everywhere. That shadow monster in my room actually helped to put creepers into perspective... large man sniffing through my undies in the dark of an African night or an eight legged snickering spit on that I can throw my flip flop at. I guess I COULD have thrown my flip flop at the the shadow monster but the mess he would have left on the floor if I had killed him with my flip flop would have been significantly more than a smushed arachnid. Can you imagine??? Death by flip flop?! That would be hilarious! The ULTIMATE bitch slap fight! Wow. I think I may be losing it, just a bit. The point of the above ramble is, quite simply, I have managed to pancake quite a few good sized terrorists all by myself armed only with the heavy plastic of a beach shoe. I am very, VERY proud of myself. Thank you very much.
I have slipped quite nicely into the laid back life of Pemba. I think I may soon be crowned the local crazy. Seriously. There are 5 dogs and 1 cat here and I have full on conversations with all of them on a regular basis. I spend my days teaching here and there, helping out around the resort here and there, and don't really chat too much between the non-english speaking tourists and my dear, sweet students. So sadly, if I'm not using my teaching voice, I'm using my talking to animals voice. I am a nutjob. But it's the colourful ones that are remembered, right? Better to be remembered for the wrong reasons than forgotten about entirely.
Coming up on three weeks now and I'll have to make some plans to actually start doing something. I have not stepped foot off of this little compound. I've taught, at least a bit, every single day and been out to dive a couple of times. There are lots of fantastic places to see, all within walking distance, so time to get my ass up and moving. Plus, I have to be the first person EVER to come to Africa and gain weight!!! Are you freaking kidding me?!?! It's AFRICA! But yeah, our chefs are amazingly good cooks and the death of me... we usually don't eat dinner until 9 or 10pm! Full stomach then off to bed... hello fatty! *sigh* I've got to make some changes...
I'm sitting here, pretending to "not" be a teacher. Immigration has shown up, not sure why, and they are harassing all of us mzungus (whiteys). I have to pretend to be a guest and our divemaster is being interrogated because immigration (ahem, the joke that is) altered his passport but they are now denying that they did it and are telling him he has to pay money for staying over the time of his visa. It's fascinating to watch the corruption and bullshit here. OH MY GOSH! They just took his passport and said they will deal with it tomorrow, laughing and smiling, throwing out "no problem! no problem!" as they gangsta stomp away. Total pricks!!! And Brad is set to fly out in two days. What the hell?!?! Oh my gosh. To sit here and watch this, the absolute disgusting comedy of it all, the lack of any kind of policy or consistency, just give me money or I make your life difficult. Complete crap. Oh, and did I tell you that a regulator was stolen from the dive shop in the last couple of days? Expensive piece of dive equipment that belongs to a staff memeber. So I've been here, what? three weeks? There have been four thefts, a boat crew "strike", and now this immigration strong arm front. What can we do about it? Nothing. Standard response to most incidents or situations... "TIA" This Is Africa. *sigh* Not sure how one gets used to this. I'm not bitter, I'm not the white princess in black Africa, it's just a right and wrong thing that I know is different everywhere in the world, but I will never just shrug my shoulders and say "meh, whatever". Listening to Raf right now... "That's just Africa... It's F**ked." He's agreed to pay half of the $200US that immigration is demanding from Brad. $200US. Half a year's salary for a good paying job here. wow.
Today must be collection day or funds are running low in the local bank because earlier, three local elders from the nearby village came to talk to Cisca. They were part of the bunch who helped build this small pool they have here. They insisted that R & C have not paid up from all of the work they did on the pool... TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO!!! No paper work, no anything, just you owe us money. Rather than have this go on and on, a good chunk of cash was handed over to make it all go away. No one really knows if the money was owed or not, but at least the problem is gone. For now. Again, wow.
I'm amazed that any businesses last here, at all. But they do, and people carry on, and tourists still come, and money still flows so somewhere, somehow, amid the corruption and chaos and greased palms, it works. Who am I but the naive, wide-eyed, stumbling about observer just along for the ride? What a ride it is turning out to be...
Little bit of a funny... I've tapped into my primitive side since arriving and having my sense of safety forcefully violated. My first instinct as I watched those three puny punks saunter off with Brad's passsport was to grab my skull bashing stick that I keep in my room and show them what making life difficult really means. Not that I would EVER do anything unprovoked, but go ahead, provoke me. I dare you!
Remind me to write about the amazing people here one of these days, my sweet students with big smiles and the occasional lightbulb moments that make me feel like, if nothing else, they are happy to see me. They are FINALLY happy to see me!!! Whether or not it's all in my imagination, I don't really care. I think they're happy to see me and that makes me happy. As always, it will forever be about me. :)
Should go and shower - that sour milk smell that I'm pretty sure is me is starting to burn my eyes a bit. Enjoy your Sunday, my western world friends, and we will chat soon. xoxo
I have slipped quite nicely into the laid back life of Pemba. I think I may soon be crowned the local crazy. Seriously. There are 5 dogs and 1 cat here and I have full on conversations with all of them on a regular basis. I spend my days teaching here and there, helping out around the resort here and there, and don't really chat too much between the non-english speaking tourists and my dear, sweet students. So sadly, if I'm not using my teaching voice, I'm using my talking to animals voice. I am a nutjob. But it's the colourful ones that are remembered, right? Better to be remembered for the wrong reasons than forgotten about entirely.
Coming up on three weeks now and I'll have to make some plans to actually start doing something. I have not stepped foot off of this little compound. I've taught, at least a bit, every single day and been out to dive a couple of times. There are lots of fantastic places to see, all within walking distance, so time to get my ass up and moving. Plus, I have to be the first person EVER to come to Africa and gain weight!!! Are you freaking kidding me?!?! It's AFRICA! But yeah, our chefs are amazingly good cooks and the death of me... we usually don't eat dinner until 9 or 10pm! Full stomach then off to bed... hello fatty! *sigh* I've got to make some changes...
I'm sitting here, pretending to "not" be a teacher. Immigration has shown up, not sure why, and they are harassing all of us mzungus (whiteys). I have to pretend to be a guest and our divemaster is being interrogated because immigration (ahem, the joke that is) altered his passport but they are now denying that they did it and are telling him he has to pay money for staying over the time of his visa. It's fascinating to watch the corruption and bullshit here. OH MY GOSH! They just took his passport and said they will deal with it tomorrow, laughing and smiling, throwing out "no problem! no problem!" as they gangsta stomp away. Total pricks!!! And Brad is set to fly out in two days. What the hell?!?! Oh my gosh. To sit here and watch this, the absolute disgusting comedy of it all, the lack of any kind of policy or consistency, just give me money or I make your life difficult. Complete crap. Oh, and did I tell you that a regulator was stolen from the dive shop in the last couple of days? Expensive piece of dive equipment that belongs to a staff memeber. So I've been here, what? three weeks? There have been four thefts, a boat crew "strike", and now this immigration strong arm front. What can we do about it? Nothing. Standard response to most incidents or situations... "TIA" This Is Africa. *sigh* Not sure how one gets used to this. I'm not bitter, I'm not the white princess in black Africa, it's just a right and wrong thing that I know is different everywhere in the world, but I will never just shrug my shoulders and say "meh, whatever". Listening to Raf right now... "That's just Africa... It's F**ked." He's agreed to pay half of the $200US that immigration is demanding from Brad. $200US. Half a year's salary for a good paying job here. wow.
Today must be collection day or funds are running low in the local bank because earlier, three local elders from the nearby village came to talk to Cisca. They were part of the bunch who helped build this small pool they have here. They insisted that R & C have not paid up from all of the work they did on the pool... TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO!!! No paper work, no anything, just you owe us money. Rather than have this go on and on, a good chunk of cash was handed over to make it all go away. No one really knows if the money was owed or not, but at least the problem is gone. For now. Again, wow.
I'm amazed that any businesses last here, at all. But they do, and people carry on, and tourists still come, and money still flows so somewhere, somehow, amid the corruption and chaos and greased palms, it works. Who am I but the naive, wide-eyed, stumbling about observer just along for the ride? What a ride it is turning out to be...
Little bit of a funny... I've tapped into my primitive side since arriving and having my sense of safety forcefully violated. My first instinct as I watched those three puny punks saunter off with Brad's passsport was to grab my skull bashing stick that I keep in my room and show them what making life difficult really means. Not that I would EVER do anything unprovoked, but go ahead, provoke me. I dare you!
Remind me to write about the amazing people here one of these days, my sweet students with big smiles and the occasional lightbulb moments that make me feel like, if nothing else, they are happy to see me. They are FINALLY happy to see me!!! Whether or not it's all in my imagination, I don't really care. I think they're happy to see me and that makes me happy. As always, it will forever be about me. :)
Should go and shower - that sour milk smell that I'm pretty sure is me is starting to burn my eyes a bit. Enjoy your Sunday, my western world friends, and we will chat soon. xoxo
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Why is it that...?
Why is it that flies ONLY buzz around my face and head? It's one of the most irritating things I have ever experienced!
Why is it that the wind only blows my hair INTO my eyes? Even when it's tied back, I still look like a wild woman.
Why is it that my fingernails grow like weeds when I'm in the tropics? They only collect dirt here but won't grow for weeks when I'm at home.
Why is it that my cravings for junk food bring me to my knees here? I can walk by it in a grocery store at home without a second glance.
Why is it that I find it acceptable to smell like a wet dog living on the streets? This should NEVER be acceptable!
Why is it that I continue to find spiders the most repulsive things on the planet? I know they have a job to do but I really don't care.
Why is it that I'm the only one around who can only speak one language? THAT'S pathetic! (does my little bit of french count???)
Why is it that wherever you are in the world, there is always drama? Get over it already and just get along!
Why is it that I always want to be doing what I'm not doing. I want to be diving right now!
Why is it that I don't feel the least bit guilty when I sit here and pretend to look busy? I really should do something...
Why is it that the wind only blows my hair INTO my eyes? Even when it's tied back, I still look like a wild woman.
Why is it that my fingernails grow like weeds when I'm in the tropics? They only collect dirt here but won't grow for weeks when I'm at home.
Why is it that my cravings for junk food bring me to my knees here? I can walk by it in a grocery store at home without a second glance.
Why is it that I find it acceptable to smell like a wet dog living on the streets? This should NEVER be acceptable!
Why is it that I continue to find spiders the most repulsive things on the planet? I know they have a job to do but I really don't care.
Why is it that I'm the only one around who can only speak one language? THAT'S pathetic! (does my little bit of french count???)
Why is it that wherever you are in the world, there is always drama? Get over it already and just get along!
Why is it that I always want to be doing what I'm not doing. I want to be diving right now!
Why is it that I don't feel the least bit guilty when I sit here and pretend to look busy? I really should do something...
Saturday, January 9, 2010
When the grown ups are away...
Hi all!
Quick note to say I have slept well for two nights now, in my new room. The bathroom situation is one I will choose not to discuss, but I have felt safe enough to close my eyes and no longer see the shadow monster crouched at the foot of my bed. For now, life is chaotic but my nights are not spent on pins and needles. Everything is easier to take when you've had a chance to sleep.
We've had a couple of days with no owners, just Mac, me, and the dive crew. I've done a surprising amount of housekeeping since I've arrived but it helps to fill my days. Funny thing is, as much as I was worried about the safety situation with R & C being gone, the stress level has actually been reduced considerably without them here. Can't put my finger on it exactly, but there are more smiles all around and people seem to be more inclined to joke with each other a bit these past two days. Of course, of course when the cat is around,the mice will not play, but it has been interesting to see first hand. Things continue to run smoothly, jobs are getting done, but everyone just seems a little more relaxed. We'll see how things go once they return this afternoon...
Another bit of drama late last night as the outskirts of a cyclone brushed past our coast but nothing to lose sleep over. The boats were moved to a safer place and we had a bit of clean up to do this morning so overall, a minor alert. The fun just never ends here. Plus, the day has stayed overcast and cool - a nice bit of relief from the staggering heat, so maybe a cyclone every now and then isn't such a bad thing. (please pick up on the sarcasm, thank you.)
Teaching today was rather productive so I'm starting to feel a bit more encouraged. People actually came to join me when they saw me sitting with books. Quite exciting really. Don't care too much if they were simply avoiding work, all I know is that they weren't quite so scared of me today. Progess. I'll take it.
A little side note about teaching, especially when I am in a closed space or close proximity to my students, oh.my.gosh. the smell. the smell is... oh gosh... *gag*... the smell. Imagine the worst possible b.o. on top of the worst possible sweaty, wet shoe on top of milk that has been sitting out on a summer day, souring and fermenting and growing. I kid you not. Trying to hold one's breath and teach just doesn't work, so I've learned to turn my head and breathe in from the one or two clean spots of air and make it look as casual as possible. I have to admit though, there have been times where I've had to just move away. The heat is agonizing and of course deodorant and laundry soap are often non-existent or in low supply plus they often have to wear the same shirt (staff shirt) over and over again without washing it. If we ever run out of tear gas or chemical war supplies, we can bottle and sell it from here. **GAG** The saddest part of it all... I think I've smelled it on me once or twice. gasp!
So that's it. Quick entry to let you know that my sense of humor is slowly returning and I'm ready to keep fighting, for now. The "L" couple just left today for a week, the owners are back this afternoon, I have no doubt there will be more drama shortly. I'll let you know. xoxo
Quick note to say I have slept well for two nights now, in my new room. The bathroom situation is one I will choose not to discuss, but I have felt safe enough to close my eyes and no longer see the shadow monster crouched at the foot of my bed. For now, life is chaotic but my nights are not spent on pins and needles. Everything is easier to take when you've had a chance to sleep.
We've had a couple of days with no owners, just Mac, me, and the dive crew. I've done a surprising amount of housekeeping since I've arrived but it helps to fill my days. Funny thing is, as much as I was worried about the safety situation with R & C being gone, the stress level has actually been reduced considerably without them here. Can't put my finger on it exactly, but there are more smiles all around and people seem to be more inclined to joke with each other a bit these past two days. Of course, of course when the cat is around,the mice will not play, but it has been interesting to see first hand. Things continue to run smoothly, jobs are getting done, but everyone just seems a little more relaxed. We'll see how things go once they return this afternoon...
Another bit of drama late last night as the outskirts of a cyclone brushed past our coast but nothing to lose sleep over. The boats were moved to a safer place and we had a bit of clean up to do this morning so overall, a minor alert. The fun just never ends here. Plus, the day has stayed overcast and cool - a nice bit of relief from the staggering heat, so maybe a cyclone every now and then isn't such a bad thing. (please pick up on the sarcasm, thank you.)
Teaching today was rather productive so I'm starting to feel a bit more encouraged. People actually came to join me when they saw me sitting with books. Quite exciting really. Don't care too much if they were simply avoiding work, all I know is that they weren't quite so scared of me today. Progess. I'll take it.
A little side note about teaching, especially when I am in a closed space or close proximity to my students, oh.my.gosh. the smell. the smell is... oh gosh... *gag*... the smell. Imagine the worst possible b.o. on top of the worst possible sweaty, wet shoe on top of milk that has been sitting out on a summer day, souring and fermenting and growing. I kid you not. Trying to hold one's breath and teach just doesn't work, so I've learned to turn my head and breathe in from the one or two clean spots of air and make it look as casual as possible. I have to admit though, there have been times where I've had to just move away. The heat is agonizing and of course deodorant and laundry soap are often non-existent or in low supply plus they often have to wear the same shirt (staff shirt) over and over again without washing it. If we ever run out of tear gas or chemical war supplies, we can bottle and sell it from here. **GAG** The saddest part of it all... I think I've smelled it on me once or twice. gasp!
So that's it. Quick entry to let you know that my sense of humor is slowly returning and I'm ready to keep fighting, for now. The "L" couple just left today for a week, the owners are back this afternoon, I have no doubt there will be more drama shortly. I'll let you know. xoxo
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Still here, still alive, still unsure.
Sorry for the delay in updates. I'm doing okay and haven't been snatched from my bed or whisked into the African darkness; at least not yet. I spent the night after the robbery in my own room and the following three nights elsewhere. During the day, my head is clear, I can see how silly it all is, I rationalize how safe I am with the guards and new locks, then night falls and it all goes to pieces. Changes, they are a coming.
The first two nights after the sleepless night in my room, I slept on a couch in the S.African girls's room. Did I tell you that they are engaged? Cute little early 20 somethings. So Raf's diveteam consists of a lesbian instructor, her partner, who is doing her divemaster training, and a gay divemaster. He WILL start flying the rainbow flag soon. I'm curious to hear how staff is reacting to seeing me coming out of the "L" room at 6:30am for two days. Yes, I'm open to all kinds of new experiences here, folks, all kinds.
Yesterday was a busy day as a bigwig from the police on a different part of the island came to pay R & C a visit and do some investigating. It pays to have pull around here, apparently. While they were chatting, news via the local grape / gossip vine came in that some of R & C's paperwork that was stolen was found in the village somewhere. So they have recovered bits and pieces, some passports and ID, random things, but still lots to replace. One "suspect" has been held in custody since the night of the big robbery and they are apparently keeping him in for two more weeks. There was mention of some rubber hoses and being close to a confession, I didn't ask for details. The "justice" system here is a full on circus.
Regardless, Raf feels confident that the person who robbed me and then robbed them is one and the same and it is the one who is in jail. Matching footprints and playing CSI has been funny to see around here. He thinks that I have nothing to fear however I remind him of the followig each time he tells me that
1. they know there was more than one weasel involved in the robbery at his place,
2. they've only caught one and the other suspects are "missing",
3. people who know the guy who is in jail are angry with Swahili Divers and the way we have manipulated the police into jailing one of their own.
4. my place is still very poorly lit, with the front entrance being pitch dark, and
5. my closest neighbour last night was 4 huts away. too far to hear me scream.
Oh, and I did tell you that the suspects are guys who walked off the job the day of the robbery at R & C's, right? So this is all revenge motivated by angry people. Yeah, yeah, you're right Janice. Come stay in our guest room tonight until we can sort this out a bit. Gee. thanks. I think I will.
R & C left today to go to the mainland to try to replace the still missing passports and other things they need to take care of. Tonight, I will be moving into another room. There is a "staff area" where R & C's house is, Mac's (the GM)house, and two side by side rooms for the dive staff. The girls are in one and Brad, is in the other. Brad has offered to move to the dorm rooms tonight and I will be moving ot his room. I'll have lots of people around and the 5 dogs are up there too. It may be a bit of a shaky night, but it won't be nearly as terrifying.
I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous with R & C being away at this point. Mac is great, but he's younger than me and not the scariest of blokes. R & C have their Swahili, their weapons, their connections, and just their general presence. I'm pretty sure I'm the oldest staff member here right now and obviously I'm not going to be much help should there be another issue. There are concerns that this has all been an inside job, people watching and planning, so that means word is out that R & C are out of town right now. sigh. It may very well be another very long night.
So we wait and see. I'll give it another fair chance once I've moved into this room and try to settle yet again but if things continue on, I've come to the conclusion that yep, I'm all done. Silly or not, I'm useless as a teacher if I'm not sleeping at night and if I'm not sleeping at night for what I feel are legitimate reasons, then that's the way it rolls my friends, that's the way it rolls.
As for the daylight hours here, I can't really say too, too much. There will be no pictures to come as the bastard stole my brand new, very exciting camera. I know it's only a camera, I know it could have been WAY worse, but I really loved that little thing. Only used it once or twice too. Damnit. Not even really sure what the idiots are going to do with it because the battery was dead when the shadow monster stole it from my room and I have a feeling that the local village folk who are literally barefoot and living the most basic of lives won't have a battery charger. GIVE ME MY CAMERA BACK, A@@HOLE!!! Sorry. I'm moving through the stages. Today I'm pretty friggin angry.
The teaching piece is, for lack of a better word, dumb. I spend most of the day trying to chase down and drag the staff to either a quiet spot or an empty table. It's so different than the previous experiences I've had. I'm used to children who come running and screaming like it's gym class - "teacher! teacher!" or even my last position in Calgary where the women would travel for hours on transit two times a week just to get to their English class. Getting smiles out of these staff members is exhausting, getting them to come to even sit with me is disheartening. R & C really want them to learn so that it will give them better opportunities in their futures as in their villages, they have limited access to education, but to me, they really couldn't care less.
And it's hot. It's so hot. And dirty. I've lived and travelled some really nasty places, but I think I was pretty spoiled by the SE Asian way of life. Amid the filth and the stink, you would see the Thai people wake up every morning and sweep their section of sidewalk in front of their homes or stores. Everyone, everywhere, always sweeping and cleaning. Here, even the housekeeping girls can't be bothered to clean. There are lots of stereotypes and frustrations already being tested here. I have short little legs, I can't move that quickly even when on full speed, but I will go and get three girls, all of whom are taller than me, I'll walk as slowly as I possibly can, and I'll still get to my table, arrange and re-arrange my materials, get a drink, go for a pee, and take a quick nap before they actually make it down to me. And they have been moving the whole time. Slow is a whole other concept here.
I've had to do a lot of helping out with cleaning and arranging rooms. The process would take me all of maybe 45 minutes. For these girls, it's sweep, sweep, LEAN on the broom, sigh, stare out the window, maybe scratch here or there, sigh again, stare out the window a little more, adjust the wraps they wear to protect their clothing from getting dirty, LEAN on the brooms a little more, then repeat the process. I kid you not. Frustration, complete awe at the lack of productivity combined with skin-melting heat is just a ticking time bomb. I will snap soon and it won't be pretty. But R & C talk about it all the time. Since the started up here a decade ago, they bang their heads, yell and scream, show examples over and over again, yet nothing changes. I have seen all the staff, in all areas of this resort, choose to stand and stare and do nothing over any kind of thought process. Okay, I've finished this, but no one has told me what to do next, and yes, I have worked here for 10 months and know the routine, but noone has told me the routine TODAY, so I'm just going to stand here and stare. Seriously, coming from the lands of over-productivity, this has been painful to see. It's sad, really.
So essentially, the teaching has been shit. They keep telling me that eventually everyone will get used to me and be excited to come, I've yet to see anyone get excited about anything, education will not be the motivator. They talked about scheduling and forcing them to come... great. Not only will I be the strange, white english teacher, I'll be the cow who takes them away from their tea and break time. Forcing anyone to do what they aren't interested in doing never does go well. I do miss the smiles and welcoming nature of my last travels. This is an entirely different ball game here. And I'm on the losing team. We'll keep trying though!
Did dive number three today and it was lovely. Haven't been in the water nearly as much as I had hoped considering I'm only steps from the beach. It's more of a rocky beach and lots of nasty sea urchins so not the nicest of beaches but I do hope to get rid of the pasty whites sometimes soon. The diving is nice but haven't been out enough to really give it a fair grade yet. They are of course encouraging me to relax and enjoy, but I haven't been here long enough to experience much other than the down side of island life. Common theme... haven't been here long enough yet. Give it time, give it time, give it time. Plus, I should have a big ole bag of good luck coming soon I sure hope! All of my bad luck has been crammed into this first week of January and it's all sunshine and lollipops from here, right? Damn well better be right!
So anyway, just a quick little note to let you all know that I'm still working on making this work. I'll think of some fun little bits to share about life on Pemba in the next little bit. Hope all of you are well. Talk more soon. xoxo
The first two nights after the sleepless night in my room, I slept on a couch in the S.African girls's room. Did I tell you that they are engaged? Cute little early 20 somethings. So Raf's diveteam consists of a lesbian instructor, her partner, who is doing her divemaster training, and a gay divemaster. He WILL start flying the rainbow flag soon. I'm curious to hear how staff is reacting to seeing me coming out of the "L" room at 6:30am for two days. Yes, I'm open to all kinds of new experiences here, folks, all kinds.
Yesterday was a busy day as a bigwig from the police on a different part of the island came to pay R & C a visit and do some investigating. It pays to have pull around here, apparently. While they were chatting, news via the local grape / gossip vine came in that some of R & C's paperwork that was stolen was found in the village somewhere. So they have recovered bits and pieces, some passports and ID, random things, but still lots to replace. One "suspect" has been held in custody since the night of the big robbery and they are apparently keeping him in for two more weeks. There was mention of some rubber hoses and being close to a confession, I didn't ask for details. The "justice" system here is a full on circus.
Regardless, Raf feels confident that the person who robbed me and then robbed them is one and the same and it is the one who is in jail. Matching footprints and playing CSI has been funny to see around here. He thinks that I have nothing to fear however I remind him of the followig each time he tells me that
1. they know there was more than one weasel involved in the robbery at his place,
2. they've only caught one and the other suspects are "missing",
3. people who know the guy who is in jail are angry with Swahili Divers and the way we have manipulated the police into jailing one of their own.
4. my place is still very poorly lit, with the front entrance being pitch dark, and
5. my closest neighbour last night was 4 huts away. too far to hear me scream.
Oh, and I did tell you that the suspects are guys who walked off the job the day of the robbery at R & C's, right? So this is all revenge motivated by angry people. Yeah, yeah, you're right Janice. Come stay in our guest room tonight until we can sort this out a bit. Gee. thanks. I think I will.
R & C left today to go to the mainland to try to replace the still missing passports and other things they need to take care of. Tonight, I will be moving into another room. There is a "staff area" where R & C's house is, Mac's (the GM)house, and two side by side rooms for the dive staff. The girls are in one and Brad, is in the other. Brad has offered to move to the dorm rooms tonight and I will be moving ot his room. I'll have lots of people around and the 5 dogs are up there too. It may be a bit of a shaky night, but it won't be nearly as terrifying.
I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous with R & C being away at this point. Mac is great, but he's younger than me and not the scariest of blokes. R & C have their Swahili, their weapons, their connections, and just their general presence. I'm pretty sure I'm the oldest staff member here right now and obviously I'm not going to be much help should there be another issue. There are concerns that this has all been an inside job, people watching and planning, so that means word is out that R & C are out of town right now. sigh. It may very well be another very long night.
So we wait and see. I'll give it another fair chance once I've moved into this room and try to settle yet again but if things continue on, I've come to the conclusion that yep, I'm all done. Silly or not, I'm useless as a teacher if I'm not sleeping at night and if I'm not sleeping at night for what I feel are legitimate reasons, then that's the way it rolls my friends, that's the way it rolls.
As for the daylight hours here, I can't really say too, too much. There will be no pictures to come as the bastard stole my brand new, very exciting camera. I know it's only a camera, I know it could have been WAY worse, but I really loved that little thing. Only used it once or twice too. Damnit. Not even really sure what the idiots are going to do with it because the battery was dead when the shadow monster stole it from my room and I have a feeling that the local village folk who are literally barefoot and living the most basic of lives won't have a battery charger. GIVE ME MY CAMERA BACK, A@@HOLE!!! Sorry. I'm moving through the stages. Today I'm pretty friggin angry.
The teaching piece is, for lack of a better word, dumb. I spend most of the day trying to chase down and drag the staff to either a quiet spot or an empty table. It's so different than the previous experiences I've had. I'm used to children who come running and screaming like it's gym class - "teacher! teacher!" or even my last position in Calgary where the women would travel for hours on transit two times a week just to get to their English class. Getting smiles out of these staff members is exhausting, getting them to come to even sit with me is disheartening. R & C really want them to learn so that it will give them better opportunities in their futures as in their villages, they have limited access to education, but to me, they really couldn't care less.
And it's hot. It's so hot. And dirty. I've lived and travelled some really nasty places, but I think I was pretty spoiled by the SE Asian way of life. Amid the filth and the stink, you would see the Thai people wake up every morning and sweep their section of sidewalk in front of their homes or stores. Everyone, everywhere, always sweeping and cleaning. Here, even the housekeeping girls can't be bothered to clean. There are lots of stereotypes and frustrations already being tested here. I have short little legs, I can't move that quickly even when on full speed, but I will go and get three girls, all of whom are taller than me, I'll walk as slowly as I possibly can, and I'll still get to my table, arrange and re-arrange my materials, get a drink, go for a pee, and take a quick nap before they actually make it down to me. And they have been moving the whole time. Slow is a whole other concept here.
I've had to do a lot of helping out with cleaning and arranging rooms. The process would take me all of maybe 45 minutes. For these girls, it's sweep, sweep, LEAN on the broom, sigh, stare out the window, maybe scratch here or there, sigh again, stare out the window a little more, adjust the wraps they wear to protect their clothing from getting dirty, LEAN on the brooms a little more, then repeat the process. I kid you not. Frustration, complete awe at the lack of productivity combined with skin-melting heat is just a ticking time bomb. I will snap soon and it won't be pretty. But R & C talk about it all the time. Since the started up here a decade ago, they bang their heads, yell and scream, show examples over and over again, yet nothing changes. I have seen all the staff, in all areas of this resort, choose to stand and stare and do nothing over any kind of thought process. Okay, I've finished this, but no one has told me what to do next, and yes, I have worked here for 10 months and know the routine, but noone has told me the routine TODAY, so I'm just going to stand here and stare. Seriously, coming from the lands of over-productivity, this has been painful to see. It's sad, really.
So essentially, the teaching has been shit. They keep telling me that eventually everyone will get used to me and be excited to come, I've yet to see anyone get excited about anything, education will not be the motivator. They talked about scheduling and forcing them to come... great. Not only will I be the strange, white english teacher, I'll be the cow who takes them away from their tea and break time. Forcing anyone to do what they aren't interested in doing never does go well. I do miss the smiles and welcoming nature of my last travels. This is an entirely different ball game here. And I'm on the losing team. We'll keep trying though!
Did dive number three today and it was lovely. Haven't been in the water nearly as much as I had hoped considering I'm only steps from the beach. It's more of a rocky beach and lots of nasty sea urchins so not the nicest of beaches but I do hope to get rid of the pasty whites sometimes soon. The diving is nice but haven't been out enough to really give it a fair grade yet. They are of course encouraging me to relax and enjoy, but I haven't been here long enough to experience much other than the down side of island life. Common theme... haven't been here long enough yet. Give it time, give it time, give it time. Plus, I should have a big ole bag of good luck coming soon I sure hope! All of my bad luck has been crammed into this first week of January and it's all sunshine and lollipops from here, right? Damn well better be right!
So anyway, just a quick little note to let you all know that I'm still working on making this work. I'll think of some fun little bits to share about life on Pemba in the next little bit. Hope all of you are well. Talk more soon. xoxo
Monday, January 4, 2010
Drama continued...
A final note on the previous entry and my loss of $250... as Scott was checking out, he mentioned to our GM that his hammock, that he had left tied to a tree outside for the last three days had a mosquito net or something stolen from it. The GM just shook his head and laughed. What was this guy's angle?! His wallet was stolen because he left his shorts laying around and he was compensated but he still left his belongings laying around and was still expecting to be compensated for it. Staff concensus on this guy is that he came to stay with us, had a good time, left because he ran out of money, drove off on his bike, either lost his wallet or ran out of money, returned the next day without any money or a place to stay but a bit of a plan, and I happened to get caught in the plot. Money is gone, he is gone, lesson learned.
Now onto...
The Screamfest
The night of January 2 was a night like the previous few, dark but clear and calm. I had put the silliness of the money aside, had a nice night and headed off to bed. My lights were turned off at 11:15pm. I sleep in the middle of a room on a mattress in the middle of a raised concrete platform. When I stand beside it, the top of the platform comes to about my hips. There is a mosquito net all around my mattress and due to lack of storage space, my suitcases are arranged at the foot of my bed, on the part of the concrete platform that is not inside the mosquito net. There's an industrial sized fan on the ceiling above my bed that rumbles and ca-chunks, and howls like an airplane propellor but it does the job. I have an ensuite open-air bathroom (thatched roof, unenclosed) and the windows are latticed so the breeze can blow through. It's really quite nice.
There's a light outside of my little hut/house that shines in just a bit so the dark isn't quite so dark when the generator is running. I fell asleep on my back, as I always do, thinking of some lesson plans for the next day.
Sometime about two short hours later, my monkey brain (thank you for the term, Andrew) was thankfully alert and effective. I don't remember any logical thought process only my body's reactions. I remember sitting straight up, not sure why, and seeing a dark figure at the foot of my bed bending over my suitcases. He stood less than 5 feet from my feet. I remember my lungs filling with air in a fraction of a second and every muscle in my body attempting to launch a siren scream but because I've had a cold since I've arrived and not much of a voice, no sound came out. Haven't we all had those nightmares?! Where you try to run but can't move, try to scream but there's no sound?! Instantly, my lungs filled to the point of bursting and the second time, the scream came loud and clear, full of fear. The dark figure at the end of my bed jumped at the sound, turned to run, and pulled on my front door so hard that he broke the lock to get out (the "lock" is a 3 inch by 2 inch piece of wood that I turn from horizontal to vertical at the top of one of the doors). I continued to sit straight up on my bed and I screamed and I screamed and I screamed. I watched out of my window for someone to come up the path, it seemed like YEARS but I saw noone, no lights, nothing. I grabbed my headtorch (always next to me), stood up out of my bed, and continued to just scream and scream and scream, standing in the middle of the room, watching out the window, shaking, screaming, hearing the blood pounding in my head, knowing that I had neighbours about 50 steps away, knowing that our Masaai guards were on duty, and trying to figure out why noone was running to help me and screaming. Like I said, no logical thought.
side note: Masaai guards. The four men, from a village far from here, who are part of a tribe known for their tracking and warrior skills. Tall, thin as rails, black as night, and the magnificent ability to glide past you without a sound. They dress in traditional kinds of blankets and decorative bracelets, carry spears, bow and arrows, and machetes, all of which they can use with the deadliest of accuracy, and are of a very proud, serious nature. They take their heritage and their responsibilities very, very seriously not just as our guards, but as who they are. They are impressive to see and apparently even more impressive to watch on the hunt. Our Masaai guards patrol our grounds at night. The compound is fenced in, but we are also surrounded but open fields, a beach, and the jungle. A fence is only a fence. Okay, back to my living nightmare...
I stood in the middle of the room, screaming, seeing the window between the bathroom and my bedroom...open, seeing two backpacks that had been up on a table...on the ground, wondering if there was someone in the bathroom, wondering if the person who had just been mere feet away from me was gone or was just standing outside of my front door that had slammed shut by now, and just willing someone, anyone, to come so I wasn't alone. I finally saw the flashlights of the Masaai, three of them in a row, walking somewhat hesitantly towards my room. I ran out the front door and startled them. How? I'm not sure as I had not stopped screaming, except for the few hyperseconds I needed to keep refilling my lungs. Well, of course they are native Masaai, they don't speak a word of English. I'm shaking and pointing at my door trying to tell them that someone was inside. One of them gently leans across me and pulls my door closed. NO! NO! NO! I'm shouting SOMEONE INSIDE! SOMEONE INSIDE! and I pointed to the fence that is across a small patch of grass just outside of my front door, the perimeter of the gounds. Then I hear one of the Masaai speak, the three of them hustle over to the fence and light up a massive hole in the chain link. They run through it and are off in the field, searching. I almost throw up.
Standing on the path in the front of my hut in my pyjamas, shaking to the bone, and holy crap, I'm alone again in the dark. Flashlights are great, but not enough when you are absolutely terrified. I let them look for a few minutes until I just couldn't stand it anymore and I called them back. I kept saying the names of the owners over and over again, "Raf and Cisa. Raf and Cisca." One, because the hole in the fence was BIG and there was no way that we could leave that unaddressed, and two, I needed them to walk me there, as they live on the other side of the compound (maybe only a 5 minute walk) but I was too afraid to go on my own to tell them about it. I threw on some clothes and we marched over.
Trying to walk on shaky knees, weak from fear but racing with adrenaline, wow, what a disaster. The Masaai first started gently knocking on Mac's door, the GM, who lives just across the path from Raf and Cisca. We tried and tried, he wasn't waking up. Then they were talking back and forth to each other and left back down the road, I guess to continue the search. So again, I'm standing in the middle of a dirt path, more light and the tha-thumping of a nearby generator, and I still feel completely alone in the middle of nowhere, just waiting to have my throat slit from behind. Screw this. I walk up and start banging on Raf and Cisca's door. Dogs wake up, they wake up, Cisca pokes her head out, I try to speak. I get the words, "someone was in my room" out of my mouth and then choke. Shit. My heart is racing even writing this. A couple of tears but I manage to shake it off and clarify that I was sleeping and woke up to find someone in my room.
She pulls me inside, wakes up Raf, who is up, headtorch on, and massive spear in hand within seconds, firing questions at me trying to get the whole picture. Raf wakes Mac up, various weapons are grabbed as are some dogs (there are 5 who live here) and we make our way back to my place. The men check out the fence and the area, I step back inside my room. I just can't stop shaking. I've turned all the lights on by now and see how it all went down. This shadow of my nightmare had scaled the bathroom wall from the outside, mere steps from the fence, and come through one of the latticed windows that didn't have a lock on it. My two backpacks that were sitting on an old section of a local boat to be used as a chair had been placed beside a small, low table next to the door. I think what woke my monkey brain up (again Andrew, thank you for the very accurate phrase) was the sound of the 60L empty backpack falling over after he had placed in on the ground. I can clearly remember the distinct sound of plastic clips hitting concrete floor and it must have somehow registered that that particular sound should not been happening when I'm in my bed.
The search continues, conversation and questions fly, Cisca is fluent in Swahili, and I am slowly starting to be able to hold myself straight again. A second big hole is found in the fence a few huts down, no sign of the intruder, and we all head back to Raf and Cisca's. A round table discussion follows as to who they believe it could have been and why. Raf asks me if I saw him, if I could describe him, and my temper fuelled by terror flared briefly, "He was a black man in my room in the middle of a dark African night, I couldn't see what the f**k he looked like!!!" oops. and we laugh. Tension broken, temporarily.
Much hypothesizing, much more joking, some sympathy and comforting, and I agreed to at least spend the couple of hours left until daylight in their spare room. I layed wide-eyed and rigid as death hearing every snapping twig, every russling leaf and blade of grass, and every single shift in the gravel outside until the sky started to lighten. At around 7am, I went back to my hut, alone, and tried to get on with it.
I avoided mostly everyone throughout the day because I didn't know what I should or shouldn't let other guests know but by the time the dive boat got back, as Raf was on the dive boat, everyone was somewhat aware. I spent the day cleaning. I needed to clean. I hand washed my clothes and sheets, swept and cleaned my room, wandered aimlessly, and cleaned some more. I was just out of sorts. I kept my answers to questions brief and casual and I dreaded nightfall. As the light faded, my stomach began to twist and turn.
sigh... such a drama queen. I know. I made it through the next night on my own, dog at my side, Masaai outside of my door, all of the lights on, seeing that figure at the foot of my bed every time I closed my eyes, swallowing the overwhelming panic in the dark of night, so of course I didn't sleep a wink. New locks and such were put on my hut, new sleeping arrangements were offered but I knew I had to just get through it as I couldn't be afraid of the dark for the next six months. No sleep, but faced the demon.
But wait... please don't go... it isn't over yet.
All of us dragged our asses through the day yesterday as we were tired from the couple of days worth of head shaking what-the-hell-is-going-on-here?! At around 10pm, Raf, exhausted, headed up to his house, the rest of were still in the sitting area (I was avoiding my room), and Mac's phone rang. He and Cisca excused themselves, I knew this wasn't good. In the distance I heard some shouting, a little while later the dogs, who should have been up on their property, came tearing down to the beach at full speed and disappeared, and I knew this wasn't good. Someone had ransacked Raf and Cisca's place.
The two remaining dive staff (two FABULOUS young south african girls) and I went back and forth sitting with Cisca, checking the office and the boats to make sure all was okay, and generally making the rounds. The story unfolded... Raf coming back to his house to find his front door locked from the inside. He must have startled whoever it was as he booted his front door in with one solid kick and the chase was on. He didn't see anyone but gave a mighty shout. The same crew of Raf, Mac, and the Masaai made their way to the village. Following suspicions and using Masaai ability to match footprints outside of Raf's house and a certain staff member's house, all felt that they had found the culprit and were able to guess at accomplices.
Point of concern... I watched Cicsa beg, plead, demand, yell, swear, and beg some more during three different phone calls trying to get the police to come. Raf and Cisca park a vehicle and fuel outside of the local police station (the police don't have a vehicle) but I guess they had used the fuel, were too tired to come, and didn't think it was necessary even though she shouted "EMERGENCY!" over and over again. That was very disconcerting. Eventually they did come, a culprit has been arrested, and Raf and Cisca have spent the day in the village dealing with the police. I haven't heard the outcome yet.
What the hell do I do now? I spent the rest of the couple of hours of last night on a couch in the s.african girls place and when I tried to nap in my own hut today, I woke up in a panicked start as I was sure I heard someone trying to get in my front door. It was full daylight, I went out to check and of course noone was there, but I just can't keep it together. I was told that there was no reason for me to be afraid to go back to my room last night, the thief was caught. When I was afraid to go back to my room after being awoken by creepy company, I was told a similar story, don't be afraid to go back, whoever it was is now too scared to come back. Two nights later, they come back. There's no way to know if the two incidents are related and I don't know if it's better if they are or they aren't. Raf and Cisca are busy trying to replace passports, put steel gates over the office doors, and replace the items that were taken from their home, I am busy trying to figure out how I can survive one more night. They are together, in a big house, with five dogs and lots of weapons, close to all of the people. I am a girl, alone, in the dark corner at the end of a row of huts, close to the edge of the property, no weapons, can have a dog or two, but feeling completely, completely alone. If the two incidents were related and guys are in jail, great. If they weren't and there is more to come, not great. Not good. Not okay at all. Again, the sun has set and light is quickly fading. I just don't know what to do.
So I'm stuck. I don't want to be a baby and bail, I don't want to be that girl who ran crying home because her feathers got ruffled a bit in the middle of the night, but I can't help thinking, what's next? Really. What's next? The owners have to be concerned with their business and all that they have just lost. I know my safety is an issue, but to them it's not the main issue right this second. To me, being selfish me, it is.
I'll have to just take this minute by minute and keep my head about me as best I can. If anyone has a weapon, some advice, mace, rabid guard dogs, or a need for an adventure holiday, please send it all my way, priority post. It won't make it here because the police who used the fuel supply to get them here in an emergency on a random drive through the country side will see packages coming to Swahili Divers and I'm sure feel a need to test drive the contents, but I'll definitely appreciate the gesture. It's getting dark, I have to shower and gather my things, I need to go. There is nothing romantic about the nights anymore. I'm sorry for the horrid entry, I'm sorry that I don't have better stories to tell, but I will keep working on it. I've been saying that since I first started this blog, haven't I? Sorry about that. I really will try to find a lovely tale soon. Keep fingers crossed for me please and I will keep you posted. One week in. Nice.
Now onto...
The Screamfest
The night of January 2 was a night like the previous few, dark but clear and calm. I had put the silliness of the money aside, had a nice night and headed off to bed. My lights were turned off at 11:15pm. I sleep in the middle of a room on a mattress in the middle of a raised concrete platform. When I stand beside it, the top of the platform comes to about my hips. There is a mosquito net all around my mattress and due to lack of storage space, my suitcases are arranged at the foot of my bed, on the part of the concrete platform that is not inside the mosquito net. There's an industrial sized fan on the ceiling above my bed that rumbles and ca-chunks, and howls like an airplane propellor but it does the job. I have an ensuite open-air bathroom (thatched roof, unenclosed) and the windows are latticed so the breeze can blow through. It's really quite nice.
There's a light outside of my little hut/house that shines in just a bit so the dark isn't quite so dark when the generator is running. I fell asleep on my back, as I always do, thinking of some lesson plans for the next day.
Sometime about two short hours later, my monkey brain (thank you for the term, Andrew) was thankfully alert and effective. I don't remember any logical thought process only my body's reactions. I remember sitting straight up, not sure why, and seeing a dark figure at the foot of my bed bending over my suitcases. He stood less than 5 feet from my feet. I remember my lungs filling with air in a fraction of a second and every muscle in my body attempting to launch a siren scream but because I've had a cold since I've arrived and not much of a voice, no sound came out. Haven't we all had those nightmares?! Where you try to run but can't move, try to scream but there's no sound?! Instantly, my lungs filled to the point of bursting and the second time, the scream came loud and clear, full of fear. The dark figure at the end of my bed jumped at the sound, turned to run, and pulled on my front door so hard that he broke the lock to get out (the "lock" is a 3 inch by 2 inch piece of wood that I turn from horizontal to vertical at the top of one of the doors). I continued to sit straight up on my bed and I screamed and I screamed and I screamed. I watched out of my window for someone to come up the path, it seemed like YEARS but I saw noone, no lights, nothing. I grabbed my headtorch (always next to me), stood up out of my bed, and continued to just scream and scream and scream, standing in the middle of the room, watching out the window, shaking, screaming, hearing the blood pounding in my head, knowing that I had neighbours about 50 steps away, knowing that our Masaai guards were on duty, and trying to figure out why noone was running to help me and screaming. Like I said, no logical thought.
side note: Masaai guards. The four men, from a village far from here, who are part of a tribe known for their tracking and warrior skills. Tall, thin as rails, black as night, and the magnificent ability to glide past you without a sound. They dress in traditional kinds of blankets and decorative bracelets, carry spears, bow and arrows, and machetes, all of which they can use with the deadliest of accuracy, and are of a very proud, serious nature. They take their heritage and their responsibilities very, very seriously not just as our guards, but as who they are. They are impressive to see and apparently even more impressive to watch on the hunt. Our Masaai guards patrol our grounds at night. The compound is fenced in, but we are also surrounded but open fields, a beach, and the jungle. A fence is only a fence. Okay, back to my living nightmare...
I stood in the middle of the room, screaming, seeing the window between the bathroom and my bedroom...open, seeing two backpacks that had been up on a table...on the ground, wondering if there was someone in the bathroom, wondering if the person who had just been mere feet away from me was gone or was just standing outside of my front door that had slammed shut by now, and just willing someone, anyone, to come so I wasn't alone. I finally saw the flashlights of the Masaai, three of them in a row, walking somewhat hesitantly towards my room. I ran out the front door and startled them. How? I'm not sure as I had not stopped screaming, except for the few hyperseconds I needed to keep refilling my lungs. Well, of course they are native Masaai, they don't speak a word of English. I'm shaking and pointing at my door trying to tell them that someone was inside. One of them gently leans across me and pulls my door closed. NO! NO! NO! I'm shouting SOMEONE INSIDE! SOMEONE INSIDE! and I pointed to the fence that is across a small patch of grass just outside of my front door, the perimeter of the gounds. Then I hear one of the Masaai speak, the three of them hustle over to the fence and light up a massive hole in the chain link. They run through it and are off in the field, searching. I almost throw up.
Standing on the path in the front of my hut in my pyjamas, shaking to the bone, and holy crap, I'm alone again in the dark. Flashlights are great, but not enough when you are absolutely terrified. I let them look for a few minutes until I just couldn't stand it anymore and I called them back. I kept saying the names of the owners over and over again, "Raf and Cisa. Raf and Cisca." One, because the hole in the fence was BIG and there was no way that we could leave that unaddressed, and two, I needed them to walk me there, as they live on the other side of the compound (maybe only a 5 minute walk) but I was too afraid to go on my own to tell them about it. I threw on some clothes and we marched over.
Trying to walk on shaky knees, weak from fear but racing with adrenaline, wow, what a disaster. The Masaai first started gently knocking on Mac's door, the GM, who lives just across the path from Raf and Cisca. We tried and tried, he wasn't waking up. Then they were talking back and forth to each other and left back down the road, I guess to continue the search. So again, I'm standing in the middle of a dirt path, more light and the tha-thumping of a nearby generator, and I still feel completely alone in the middle of nowhere, just waiting to have my throat slit from behind. Screw this. I walk up and start banging on Raf and Cisca's door. Dogs wake up, they wake up, Cisca pokes her head out, I try to speak. I get the words, "someone was in my room" out of my mouth and then choke. Shit. My heart is racing even writing this. A couple of tears but I manage to shake it off and clarify that I was sleeping and woke up to find someone in my room.
She pulls me inside, wakes up Raf, who is up, headtorch on, and massive spear in hand within seconds, firing questions at me trying to get the whole picture. Raf wakes Mac up, various weapons are grabbed as are some dogs (there are 5 who live here) and we make our way back to my place. The men check out the fence and the area, I step back inside my room. I just can't stop shaking. I've turned all the lights on by now and see how it all went down. This shadow of my nightmare had scaled the bathroom wall from the outside, mere steps from the fence, and come through one of the latticed windows that didn't have a lock on it. My two backpacks that were sitting on an old section of a local boat to be used as a chair had been placed beside a small, low table next to the door. I think what woke my monkey brain up (again Andrew, thank you for the very accurate phrase) was the sound of the 60L empty backpack falling over after he had placed in on the ground. I can clearly remember the distinct sound of plastic clips hitting concrete floor and it must have somehow registered that that particular sound should not been happening when I'm in my bed.
The search continues, conversation and questions fly, Cisca is fluent in Swahili, and I am slowly starting to be able to hold myself straight again. A second big hole is found in the fence a few huts down, no sign of the intruder, and we all head back to Raf and Cisca's. A round table discussion follows as to who they believe it could have been and why. Raf asks me if I saw him, if I could describe him, and my temper fuelled by terror flared briefly, "He was a black man in my room in the middle of a dark African night, I couldn't see what the f**k he looked like!!!" oops. and we laugh. Tension broken, temporarily.
Much hypothesizing, much more joking, some sympathy and comforting, and I agreed to at least spend the couple of hours left until daylight in their spare room. I layed wide-eyed and rigid as death hearing every snapping twig, every russling leaf and blade of grass, and every single shift in the gravel outside until the sky started to lighten. At around 7am, I went back to my hut, alone, and tried to get on with it.
I avoided mostly everyone throughout the day because I didn't know what I should or shouldn't let other guests know but by the time the dive boat got back, as Raf was on the dive boat, everyone was somewhat aware. I spent the day cleaning. I needed to clean. I hand washed my clothes and sheets, swept and cleaned my room, wandered aimlessly, and cleaned some more. I was just out of sorts. I kept my answers to questions brief and casual and I dreaded nightfall. As the light faded, my stomach began to twist and turn.
sigh... such a drama queen. I know. I made it through the next night on my own, dog at my side, Masaai outside of my door, all of the lights on, seeing that figure at the foot of my bed every time I closed my eyes, swallowing the overwhelming panic in the dark of night, so of course I didn't sleep a wink. New locks and such were put on my hut, new sleeping arrangements were offered but I knew I had to just get through it as I couldn't be afraid of the dark for the next six months. No sleep, but faced the demon.
But wait... please don't go... it isn't over yet.
All of us dragged our asses through the day yesterday as we were tired from the couple of days worth of head shaking what-the-hell-is-going-on-here?! At around 10pm, Raf, exhausted, headed up to his house, the rest of were still in the sitting area (I was avoiding my room), and Mac's phone rang. He and Cisca excused themselves, I knew this wasn't good. In the distance I heard some shouting, a little while later the dogs, who should have been up on their property, came tearing down to the beach at full speed and disappeared, and I knew this wasn't good. Someone had ransacked Raf and Cisca's place.
The two remaining dive staff (two FABULOUS young south african girls) and I went back and forth sitting with Cisca, checking the office and the boats to make sure all was okay, and generally making the rounds. The story unfolded... Raf coming back to his house to find his front door locked from the inside. He must have startled whoever it was as he booted his front door in with one solid kick and the chase was on. He didn't see anyone but gave a mighty shout. The same crew of Raf, Mac, and the Masaai made their way to the village. Following suspicions and using Masaai ability to match footprints outside of Raf's house and a certain staff member's house, all felt that they had found the culprit and were able to guess at accomplices.
Point of concern... I watched Cicsa beg, plead, demand, yell, swear, and beg some more during three different phone calls trying to get the police to come. Raf and Cisca park a vehicle and fuel outside of the local police station (the police don't have a vehicle) but I guess they had used the fuel, were too tired to come, and didn't think it was necessary even though she shouted "EMERGENCY!" over and over again. That was very disconcerting. Eventually they did come, a culprit has been arrested, and Raf and Cisca have spent the day in the village dealing with the police. I haven't heard the outcome yet.
What the hell do I do now? I spent the rest of the couple of hours of last night on a couch in the s.african girls place and when I tried to nap in my own hut today, I woke up in a panicked start as I was sure I heard someone trying to get in my front door. It was full daylight, I went out to check and of course noone was there, but I just can't keep it together. I was told that there was no reason for me to be afraid to go back to my room last night, the thief was caught. When I was afraid to go back to my room after being awoken by creepy company, I was told a similar story, don't be afraid to go back, whoever it was is now too scared to come back. Two nights later, they come back. There's no way to know if the two incidents are related and I don't know if it's better if they are or they aren't. Raf and Cisca are busy trying to replace passports, put steel gates over the office doors, and replace the items that were taken from their home, I am busy trying to figure out how I can survive one more night. They are together, in a big house, with five dogs and lots of weapons, close to all of the people. I am a girl, alone, in the dark corner at the end of a row of huts, close to the edge of the property, no weapons, can have a dog or two, but feeling completely, completely alone. If the two incidents were related and guys are in jail, great. If they weren't and there is more to come, not great. Not good. Not okay at all. Again, the sun has set and light is quickly fading. I just don't know what to do.
So I'm stuck. I don't want to be a baby and bail, I don't want to be that girl who ran crying home because her feathers got ruffled a bit in the middle of the night, but I can't help thinking, what's next? Really. What's next? The owners have to be concerned with their business and all that they have just lost. I know my safety is an issue, but to them it's not the main issue right this second. To me, being selfish me, it is.
I'll have to just take this minute by minute and keep my head about me as best I can. If anyone has a weapon, some advice, mace, rabid guard dogs, or a need for an adventure holiday, please send it all my way, priority post. It won't make it here because the police who used the fuel supply to get them here in an emergency on a random drive through the country side will see packages coming to Swahili Divers and I'm sure feel a need to test drive the contents, but I'll definitely appreciate the gesture. It's getting dark, I have to shower and gather my things, I need to go. There is nothing romantic about the nights anymore. I'm sorry for the horrid entry, I'm sorry that I don't have better stories to tell, but I will keep working on it. I've been saying that since I first started this blog, haven't I? Sorry about that. I really will try to find a lovely tale soon. Keep fingers crossed for me please and I will keep you posted. One week in. Nice.
Please let it only get better from here...
So the previous entry was completed by the indescribable, endlessly entertaining Raf who is the owner of my wild African ride. I like how he said that I "lent" him my computer. He really actually nicked it off me when he saw I was attempting to update my blog and his need for attention and constant resort plugs got the better of him. I was actually quite surprised at how well composed the entry was. I've yet to hear a full sentence out of him that didn't contain at least three f-bombs and two racial slurs. He is absolutely hilarious. No, no, no, racial slurs aren't funny, I know, I know, politically correct blah, blah, blah. But seriously, if you get offended easily, stop reading my blog. Anyway, you now have a local's eye view of where I am living, we'll see how it compares to my own.
I know I'm a chatter box and really rather wordy so I'm going to try to condense the drama that has unfolded over the last few days as quickly as possible. Before I start, yes, I am staying (for now) and yes, I am okay. Here we go...
THE SCANDAL\
You don't really need the details of who's who in the zoo but a few key players... Brad, an Australian DiveMaster who has been here for a few weeks leading dives, and Scott, a random unconnected Aussie who is living and working with a VSO in Namimbia and showed up out of the blue as he has been riding his bike around the island and decided to stay and dive. Yes, riding his bike around Africa. WTF. New Year's Eve, lots of fun, lots of drinking to be had by some (the above mentioned particularly), and both Brad and Scott attended the festivities wearing "kangas", traditional Tanzanian sarongs. Originally the two boys were wearing the kangas over their jeans and shorts but as the alcohol continued to flow, clothing was shed and they were more comfortable in their newly found "skirts". They simply dropped their drawers and left them in a heap on the floor near the bar. We all moved down to the beach for dinner and ate our way til midnight.
After 2010 was joyfully but quietly rung in, some of us moved back up to the bar area. The two boys and an interesting female "friend" disappeared to the beach and I didn't see them again until about 3pm the following day. Darn that alcohol. Before I went to bed at about 1:30am, sober and exhausted, I mentioned to the general manager, a dive instructor and her student, and a guest that were all hanging out in the bar / sitting area that we should hide their knickers to see how they make out in skirts the next day. There were some suggestions to throw their things in the pool, leave them on the beach, etc, but not wanting to be a complete cow and fully aware of the sketchy life in Africa, I tucked the shoes and bottoms under a bench in the dive shop area which is guarded all night long, as it's close to a fuel storage shed, and went to bed.
When the partiers greeted the day later in the afternoon the next day, I was teaching. Somewhat later, Scott was asking around about his shorts. I let him know where they were last placed in my lame attempt to be funny. As the day wore on, the drama wore on. Brad, the DiveMaster, had words with me letting me know how inconvenienced he was by the fact that without his pants, he could not get into his room, no key, and did not have his cell phone to wake him up so he was late for the dives. Ummm... okay, then sleep somewhere else, there is an open area full of couches, and don't get so drunk that you can't wake up in the morning. Sorry, but really. Did I mention that Brad is gay and seems to have a tendency to be a bit moody? wow. Anyway, as the story unfolds, Brad found all of his belongings but they had been moved. Scott found his stuff as well but said his wallet was missing. I walked through with all of those to be involved exactly what happened and when and said that I do remember feeling Scott's camera in his shorts when I picked them up but nothing in the other pocket. Nothing. And yes, his camera was still in his pocket. Scott handled this all with laid back, take it as it comes grace however I walked into the office and in on Brad having a nice little hissy fit with Raf and the GM, Mac. I of course promptly placed myself in the middle of the conversation because, primarily, it was about me.
Brad's arguement essentially consisted of the fact that if things had gotten stolen from where they left their belongings, then yes, they would just have to suck it up, but because I moved their stuff, it is my fault the wallet had gone missing. Raf and Mac went at Brad hard with the following, 1. this is Africa, don't leave your stuff lying around, EVER. 2. there is no way to know that the wallet wasn't taken from the sitting area that was left empty for 2+hrs while we were all eating and drinking. and 3. I actually moved their belongings to a much more secure area than the open sitting area. Raf and Mac stood their ground stating that I was not at fault, Brad maintained his arguement and insisted that it was. My thought process at this time... holy s**t... 4 days in and I am now being accused of what? being a thief? being an idiot? being untrustworthy? it's going to be a long 6 months if this is the case. I offered to replace whatever money was in Scott's wallet. Raf and Mac immediately said no, Brad said I should. Raf asked Brad to leave.
So the remaining three of us chatted. I went over the deal again, and Raf and Mac laughed, thinking it was a great idea to hide their pants and wished they would have thought of it first. They both felt that something was fishy about the whole deal, there was no way to prove that Scott hadn't really lost his wallet before he even arrived as he knew there was a safe on the premises but didn't lock anything up, and they didn't think I should have to do anything. I, being the new girl, knowing I have to continue to work with Brad, feeling that STUPID ancient Catholic guilt, and wanting to do something to make it right again said I would do what I could to replace what I could. Raf sent me to ask Scott how much was in his wallet - he did some hemming and hawwing, said he had just been to the bank, had several currencies in there, blah, blah, blah and it was somewhere between $500-$600US. F.*.*.K.
Went back to Raf, he said bullshit and the three of us proceeded to chop through weeds and jungle looking for this "stolen" wallet. All the while, Raf and Mac are killing themselves laughing at who they can play this prank on next, how I can improve my technique, and telling me that I will fit in nicely here. Me? I'm just getting sicker and sicker to my stomach.
A few back and forth conversations involving Raf, Scott, and me and it was agreed that Raf would allow Scott to stay a couple more days and dive for free and I would cover whatever it would cost him to get back to Namimbia. All said and done, he came up with $250. A smaller f.*.*.k. but one nonetheless. I've been here four days.
The ensuing drama consisted of Brad and the very sexually liberated female friend deciding to no longer talk to me and me feeling a little bit like ninth grade again. Scott, however, continued to approach me and try to make convesation with me, but I made sure I backed WAY away. No more socialzing. The more unfortunate part in the rest of this is our little kiwi. Remember the sweetheart I mentioned in an earlier blog? The smile that plopped down beside me in the airport? SUCH an interesting guy and just a very happy, appreciative soul, but he was kinda out of the loop, I think, on all of this. So he would be diving all day with the peevedsome threesome then any conversation he tried to have with me when he returned eventually lead to the others separating themselves. I, of course, didn't want anything to do with the whole childish mess so I became "staff". Ate with staff, sat with staff, and chatted with staff. The best way to go about it, really. But I was sad to not have had more of a chance to visit with this dear kiwi and I'm afraid that I may have given him the impression that I wasn't interested in spending more time chatting with him when that wasn't the case at all. I simply didn't want him to be pulled into the middle of the crap. He left today and I was very sad to see him go. Andrew, if you're reading this, I do hope our paths cross again someday...
So that was the $250 scandal that the shop feels I really shouldn't pay but I already committed so it's done. Excellent. (so much for not being wordy. and I haven't even gotten to the BIG stuff yet!)
Actually, I really have to pee and have a shower so I'm going to post this and finish the second half in a bit. I shall title the next blog entry... "The Screamfest". (Now I know you'll definitely check back in.) :)
I know I'm a chatter box and really rather wordy so I'm going to try to condense the drama that has unfolded over the last few days as quickly as possible. Before I start, yes, I am staying (for now) and yes, I am okay. Here we go...
THE SCANDAL\
You don't really need the details of who's who in the zoo but a few key players... Brad, an Australian DiveMaster who has been here for a few weeks leading dives, and Scott, a random unconnected Aussie who is living and working with a VSO in Namimbia and showed up out of the blue as he has been riding his bike around the island and decided to stay and dive. Yes, riding his bike around Africa. WTF. New Year's Eve, lots of fun, lots of drinking to be had by some (the above mentioned particularly), and both Brad and Scott attended the festivities wearing "kangas", traditional Tanzanian sarongs. Originally the two boys were wearing the kangas over their jeans and shorts but as the alcohol continued to flow, clothing was shed and they were more comfortable in their newly found "skirts". They simply dropped their drawers and left them in a heap on the floor near the bar. We all moved down to the beach for dinner and ate our way til midnight.
After 2010 was joyfully but quietly rung in, some of us moved back up to the bar area. The two boys and an interesting female "friend" disappeared to the beach and I didn't see them again until about 3pm the following day. Darn that alcohol. Before I went to bed at about 1:30am, sober and exhausted, I mentioned to the general manager, a dive instructor and her student, and a guest that were all hanging out in the bar / sitting area that we should hide their knickers to see how they make out in skirts the next day. There were some suggestions to throw their things in the pool, leave them on the beach, etc, but not wanting to be a complete cow and fully aware of the sketchy life in Africa, I tucked the shoes and bottoms under a bench in the dive shop area which is guarded all night long, as it's close to a fuel storage shed, and went to bed.
When the partiers greeted the day later in the afternoon the next day, I was teaching. Somewhat later, Scott was asking around about his shorts. I let him know where they were last placed in my lame attempt to be funny. As the day wore on, the drama wore on. Brad, the DiveMaster, had words with me letting me know how inconvenienced he was by the fact that without his pants, he could not get into his room, no key, and did not have his cell phone to wake him up so he was late for the dives. Ummm... okay, then sleep somewhere else, there is an open area full of couches, and don't get so drunk that you can't wake up in the morning. Sorry, but really. Did I mention that Brad is gay and seems to have a tendency to be a bit moody? wow. Anyway, as the story unfolds, Brad found all of his belongings but they had been moved. Scott found his stuff as well but said his wallet was missing. I walked through with all of those to be involved exactly what happened and when and said that I do remember feeling Scott's camera in his shorts when I picked them up but nothing in the other pocket. Nothing. And yes, his camera was still in his pocket. Scott handled this all with laid back, take it as it comes grace however I walked into the office and in on Brad having a nice little hissy fit with Raf and the GM, Mac. I of course promptly placed myself in the middle of the conversation because, primarily, it was about me.
Brad's arguement essentially consisted of the fact that if things had gotten stolen from where they left their belongings, then yes, they would just have to suck it up, but because I moved their stuff, it is my fault the wallet had gone missing. Raf and Mac went at Brad hard with the following, 1. this is Africa, don't leave your stuff lying around, EVER. 2. there is no way to know that the wallet wasn't taken from the sitting area that was left empty for 2+hrs while we were all eating and drinking. and 3. I actually moved their belongings to a much more secure area than the open sitting area. Raf and Mac stood their ground stating that I was not at fault, Brad maintained his arguement and insisted that it was. My thought process at this time... holy s**t... 4 days in and I am now being accused of what? being a thief? being an idiot? being untrustworthy? it's going to be a long 6 months if this is the case. I offered to replace whatever money was in Scott's wallet. Raf and Mac immediately said no, Brad said I should. Raf asked Brad to leave.
So the remaining three of us chatted. I went over the deal again, and Raf and Mac laughed, thinking it was a great idea to hide their pants and wished they would have thought of it first. They both felt that something was fishy about the whole deal, there was no way to prove that Scott hadn't really lost his wallet before he even arrived as he knew there was a safe on the premises but didn't lock anything up, and they didn't think I should have to do anything. I, being the new girl, knowing I have to continue to work with Brad, feeling that STUPID ancient Catholic guilt, and wanting to do something to make it right again said I would do what I could to replace what I could. Raf sent me to ask Scott how much was in his wallet - he did some hemming and hawwing, said he had just been to the bank, had several currencies in there, blah, blah, blah and it was somewhere between $500-$600US. F.*.*.K.
Went back to Raf, he said bullshit and the three of us proceeded to chop through weeds and jungle looking for this "stolen" wallet. All the while, Raf and Mac are killing themselves laughing at who they can play this prank on next, how I can improve my technique, and telling me that I will fit in nicely here. Me? I'm just getting sicker and sicker to my stomach.
A few back and forth conversations involving Raf, Scott, and me and it was agreed that Raf would allow Scott to stay a couple more days and dive for free and I would cover whatever it would cost him to get back to Namimbia. All said and done, he came up with $250. A smaller f.*.*.k. but one nonetheless. I've been here four days.
The ensuing drama consisted of Brad and the very sexually liberated female friend deciding to no longer talk to me and me feeling a little bit like ninth grade again. Scott, however, continued to approach me and try to make convesation with me, but I made sure I backed WAY away. No more socialzing. The more unfortunate part in the rest of this is our little kiwi. Remember the sweetheart I mentioned in an earlier blog? The smile that plopped down beside me in the airport? SUCH an interesting guy and just a very happy, appreciative soul, but he was kinda out of the loop, I think, on all of this. So he would be diving all day with the peevedsome threesome then any conversation he tried to have with me when he returned eventually lead to the others separating themselves. I, of course, didn't want anything to do with the whole childish mess so I became "staff". Ate with staff, sat with staff, and chatted with staff. The best way to go about it, really. But I was sad to not have had more of a chance to visit with this dear kiwi and I'm afraid that I may have given him the impression that I wasn't interested in spending more time chatting with him when that wasn't the case at all. I simply didn't want him to be pulled into the middle of the crap. He left today and I was very sad to see him go. Andrew, if you're reading this, I do hope our paths cross again someday...
So that was the $250 scandal that the shop feels I really shouldn't pay but I already committed so it's done. Excellent. (so much for not being wordy. and I haven't even gotten to the BIG stuff yet!)
Actually, I really have to pee and have a shower so I'm going to post this and finish the second half in a bit. I shall title the next blog entry... "The Screamfest". (Now I know you'll definitely check back in.) :)
Now a word from our sponsor...
This short blog section is guest written by Raf, the crazy fool who actually ploughed half a million bucks and 11 years of his life into Tanzania. (It's probably more than that, but I am embarrassed to say)
Janice has very kindly lent me her computer to post a few notes on the unique location that is Pemba. Pemba is a green Island that is 30 nautical miles off the coast of Africa, but its not really African. The highest point in 80 metres above sea level, but the island is rolling and hilly. It is a volcanic island that rises 800m from the Indian ocean seafloor on one side and 3000m on the otherside. The sea around pemba is a dark blue and the coral reefs look azure from the air. There are three medium size towns on the Island and a couple of large villages that pass as small towns. It is 60 nautical miles north to south, and has one major road. There are three tourist hotels on the Island and one airfield that is useable in the daytime only. Janice's home is in the far northern tip of the Island, four miles south of the 103 year old British built light house, at ras kigomasha.
Pemba is populated by a bunch of Arabs, africans, everything in between. There are also about 13-20 permanent ethnic Europeans here, of which Janice is now one. Although where I am concerned I am only European if you consider Istanbul to be Europe. The melange of people on Pemba is unique. It is also, by and large, very peaceful. The only ethnic group that is missing are the Indians. There are two Indian families left on the Island after the 1964 revolution. Now you may ask "what revolution? What was that?" . Well in 1964 Zanzibar (the state that encompases the Islands of Pemba and Zanzibar) was an independant nation. Britain gave it Independance in 1963, and the locals held an election. The election was gerrymandered and the Africa community felt jipped. A series of people consipired to have an election, and the Island of Zanzibar was punged into violent chaos. 40,000 people were killed. Mostly Arabs and some Indians. Pemba remained much calmer. Tanzania was then formed in 1964, a union between Tanganyka and Zanzibar. The United Republic of Tanzania then entered a period of socialism that destroyed infrastructure and education, through neglect. Happily Ali Hassan Mwinyi, a president in the 1980's opened Tanzania up to international investors. But the process was long and laborious. The socialist (Safari suit) generation were still in all posts in the civil service.
By now, in 2010, Zanzibar and indeed Tanzania, have come a long way. The greatest positive input into the Nation is foriegn investment. This generates jobs and education. The greatest challenge is virrulent corruption and gross malicious mismanagement.
To an extent this is where Janice fits in. She has been brought here by a private investment, to teach the staff better English. So diabolical is the level of education here in Pemba, that if you want staff who speak English, then you have to get them from Zanzibar or the mainland. Pemba is so remote that mainlanders regard it as being the greatest of hardship postings. Janice has a guest room to herself, (which is really more of a house than a room) and wanders around the hotel calling the staff over and teaching them English in their work location. It has only been six days, but the idea is that if this works, we might even extend it to the children of our staff and perhaps even wider, in the hope that we can prepare Pemba for the benefit of the next generation...
And now I will leave it to Janice to explain her adventures to you all...
Raf
Janice has very kindly lent me her computer to post a few notes on the unique location that is Pemba. Pemba is a green Island that is 30 nautical miles off the coast of Africa, but its not really African. The highest point in 80 metres above sea level, but the island is rolling and hilly. It is a volcanic island that rises 800m from the Indian ocean seafloor on one side and 3000m on the otherside. The sea around pemba is a dark blue and the coral reefs look azure from the air. There are three medium size towns on the Island and a couple of large villages that pass as small towns. It is 60 nautical miles north to south, and has one major road. There are three tourist hotels on the Island and one airfield that is useable in the daytime only. Janice's home is in the far northern tip of the Island, four miles south of the 103 year old British built light house, at ras kigomasha.
Pemba is populated by a bunch of Arabs, africans, everything in between. There are also about 13-20 permanent ethnic Europeans here, of which Janice is now one. Although where I am concerned I am only European if you consider Istanbul to be Europe. The melange of people on Pemba is unique. It is also, by and large, very peaceful. The only ethnic group that is missing are the Indians. There are two Indian families left on the Island after the 1964 revolution. Now you may ask "what revolution? What was that?" . Well in 1964 Zanzibar (the state that encompases the Islands of Pemba and Zanzibar) was an independant nation. Britain gave it Independance in 1963, and the locals held an election. The election was gerrymandered and the Africa community felt jipped. A series of people consipired to have an election, and the Island of Zanzibar was punged into violent chaos. 40,000 people were killed. Mostly Arabs and some Indians. Pemba remained much calmer. Tanzania was then formed in 1964, a union between Tanganyka and Zanzibar. The United Republic of Tanzania then entered a period of socialism that destroyed infrastructure and education, through neglect. Happily Ali Hassan Mwinyi, a president in the 1980's opened Tanzania up to international investors. But the process was long and laborious. The socialist (Safari suit) generation were still in all posts in the civil service.
By now, in 2010, Zanzibar and indeed Tanzania, have come a long way. The greatest positive input into the Nation is foriegn investment. This generates jobs and education. The greatest challenge is virrulent corruption and gross malicious mismanagement.
To an extent this is where Janice fits in. She has been brought here by a private investment, to teach the staff better English. So diabolical is the level of education here in Pemba, that if you want staff who speak English, then you have to get them from Zanzibar or the mainland. Pemba is so remote that mainlanders regard it as being the greatest of hardship postings. Janice has a guest room to herself, (which is really more of a house than a room) and wanders around the hotel calling the staff over and teaching them English in their work location. It has only been six days, but the idea is that if this works, we might even extend it to the children of our staff and perhaps even wider, in the hope that we can prepare Pemba for the benefit of the next generation...
And now I will leave it to Janice to explain her adventures to you all...
Raf
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The journey
Africa…? Really…???
Happy New Year! My first official blog entry since arriving on the new continent. A new year, a new home, a new challenge. Here’s to all of the adventure that 2010 holds for all of us!
My goal… to keep this blog up and running. I can already see how easily it could be to slip into the tranquil existence of no outside contact. But this will be the journal of, if nothing else, the interesting and colourful characters that will be passing through this remote dive centre somewhere on the East African coastline. Let’s go back to when I left you guys…
The journey was long, but for the most part, surprisingly uneventful. Almost three complete days from door to door. Ugh. Considering that a silly Nigerian burned himself to bits trying to blow up that Christmas Day flight, three days with no delays was actually incredibly lucky. No need to document the journey as it was merely airports and grouchy people, but there were one or two highlights…
Sadly, my lodging in London was close to the airport, miles and miles from anything or anywhere else. The three block walk from my hotel to the local Tesco mini mart was sadly stereotypical; drizzly grey, lots of litter in the streets, and many sketchy looking characters in tracksuits flitting about with a cigarette jammed in their mouths as they shouted into cell phones with random “alright! alright!” and “bloody hell”s here and there. And not a pretty set of teeth between them all.
Heathrow airport is a complete nightmare. Complete. However, good fortune was on my side once again as the short lineup for Egypt Air and the checking in of all of my book laden bags without extra charge was surprisingly efficient. I have to admit that my white girl, media-hyped, slightly overwhelmed brain was a little bit on watchdog mode as all of the communication quickly switched from English to Arabic. The airport announcements or reports from the captains on the planes would go on for 5 solid minutes in Arabic, then a 3 second “please fasten your seat belt, enjoy your flight” English translation. Come on now. I’ve lived in Asia, we’ve all seen the mis-dubbed kung fu films, yeah, some languages take a little longer than others to get their point across, but this is ridiculous. Who knows what the cool Arabic kids got to talk about behind our English speaking backs but I made it here in one piece, and that’s all I really cared about.
Going through a “security check” in Cairo was interesting… they took some water bottles, and not others, even though we were already in the secure zone, they let me keep my nice sharp plastic knife that I had forgotten about and shoved in my carry on, and when I beeped going through the scanner, the security guy motioned to this bored and very disinterested looking woman sitting behind him. She was slouching and yawning in a randomly placed chair, holding one of the magic metal detector wands loosely in her lap. I paused, but she remained seated. Really? You’re not even going to get up?! So I walked the few steps over to where she couldn’t be bothered to drag her ass up from her mighty plastic throne to check for explosive devices, she waved her magic wand over my front, it beeped, and she did the… “pfft. Get out of here”, hand dismissal wave. I stood there with my mouth open for a few seconds, shook my head, and moved on. I guess no one has any intentions of blowing up planes going INTO the Middle East.
Blah, blah, blah… arriving in Dar es Salaam, capital city of Tanzania. You know that cool map movie thing that plays on most flights as you’re travelling? Gives you the time to destination, miles to destination, outside temperature, how high you are flying, etc? Ummm… yeah. The last outside breath of air I had was in London, where I wore my puffy down jacket to the store. I knew I was heading to Africa, so dressed in layers accordingly, but as we were descending, what caught my attention was the temperature. As we re-entered our lovely atmosphere, we quickly jumped from -51C to +16C. We are landing as the sun is rising, just after 6 am. And we descend, lower, temperature, higher, higher. Still at 750m and we’re already up to 26C. Oh s**t. Yes, I can hear you all rolling your eyes … I know it’s Africa, I know it’s hot, but you can just never really prepare for it.
A driver was waiting for me, very happy man holding up a hand-printed Swahili Divers sign, and I was giddy on a combination of extreme over-tiredness and complete and udder disorientation. The plan was that I would go to a hotel where I could most likely get a discounted day rate, sleep for a few hours, and shower before starting the little plane journey over to the islands. The drive into the city was hot and slow so it allowed me to replay so many fond scenes of my beloved Thailand. Busy streets, someone always selling something up and down in between traffic, swarms of people walking, running, biking, from one place to the next, and minibuses dangerously crammed with seas of sweaty faces and random items of necessity tied to any available space. The differences… darker skin and colourful wrap-like clothes. Oh! And the superstar women walking with 100 pound baskets of food, papers, or whatever perched firmly on their heads. Very, very impressive. THAT, I have to learn!
A hot, sweaty, confusing drive and we end up at one place, no clean rooms. Head down to the next one, and paid $20US, no discount! for the sketchiest little ickfest that compelled me to place a chair under the doorknob despite it being the middle of the day. Laid some of my own things over the stained and torn sheets and pillow and attempted sleep. A continuous stream of hammer banging on pipe, shouts and foreign conversation, and a nagging sense that the lock on my door was being tried a couple of times kept me from any rest. I braved the bathroom, oh you just can’t imagine, and checked out by noon to be taken back to the airport. The drive was less than a half an hour each way and I was charged a hefty sum of $50US. I was in Dar es Salaam less than 5 hrs and spent $70US. Folks, I have quickly learned that Africa is NOT cheap.
Domestic airport. Typical. No plane ticket upon arrival, not typical. The airline I was supposed to fly had no internet so sent me to another airline. Nope, you’re not on our list of reservations. Back to the first one, oh, yeah, here you are, who is paying for your ticket? No, no, it has already been paid for. Look of disappointment. Oh. Okay, we leave at 2:45pm. (even though tickets said 2pm). Welcome to Africa. Chatted up all of the airline staff (hmmm… maybe all of about 6 people INCLUDING the pilot!) coming in and out of the office-sized room that was their waiting area. One of the porters weighs my bags, tells me I have to pay. I drop the names of the resort owners and their boss who runs the airline, they make a phone call, and I don’t have to pay. More disappointed looks. So I wait. And wait. And wait.
Much, much later 7 westerners walk out to the tarmac and onto an 8 seater plane. Small, old, dingy bits and pieces held together with string and duct tape. But we make it to Zanzibar in 20 mins. Off, wait at Zanzibar, then move on to the big plane about an hour later, about 17 of us on a 20 seat plane. Gulp. I was dying from heat and exhaustion (are you picking up on the common factor here?!) so no fear laced adrenaline rush, no fingernails in the palms of my hands, I closed my eyes and did the mouth open sleep for probably a good, solid 15 minutes. We arrive in Pemba 30 minutes after we left Zanzibar.
Walking on the tarmac is always such an interesting event in these countries, dodging random parked and trying to park planes. Safety is just an entirely different concept. Entirely. While waiting for the luggage to be carted off the plane, a sweetheart of a kiwi with the best smile EVER plops himself down to wait. He and another girl who were on the plane had met climbing Kilimanjaro and came here together. Wow. Impressive, impressive, impressive. The kiwi was planning on coming to my resort to do some diving, the girl was open to plans so came along. I offered my driver, being the presumptuous person that I am, and we were all soon speeding through the little towns and villages on the hour long trip to the northern point of the island.
This Africa has parts of what I had imagined, and more parts of SE Asia. “Villages” with mud / clay huts and thatched roofs, half clothed children, small random collections of odd buildings with random things, and lots and lots of people just sitting, as there’s nothing else to do. Wherever there’s a bit of shade, you would see people just sitting, watching, seemingly waiting, and still doing nothing. But it’s the coast, and a very healthy coast, so the full green of the tropics covered everywhere I looked – enormous and green and green and green. Slightly disappointing as it wasn’t completely new conce, but comforting at the same time. It was surreal.
My home… well, I’ve got to get some pictures up. This isn’t Africa. This isn’t toughing it. This is just dreamy. Right on the beach, quaint open concept resort, it’s is simply amazing, amazing, amazing. There’s no way that pictures will do it justice, but oh my gosh, I will try. It has been an interesting few days but this is already ridiculously long so I should get it posted. I’ve done a bit of teaching, two dives, and already been involved in a scandal that will cost me around $300US. 4 days in and drama already. Sigh. The owners are instantly lovable, feels like family already, but had my first break down this afternoon. Happy New Year to me. Tomorrow is another day, this is Africa, they keep telling me, and nothing is right unless everything is all effed up, so I soldier on. I’ll get some more of the details out soon but for now, I just wanted to let everyone know that I’m still alive. I welcomed 2010 under a full African moon on the beach with a glass of champagne in my hand toasting some of the most interesting of people, and I am still looking forward to everything that this new year has to offer, good, bad, ugly, and everything in between.
Hope the hangovers have somewhat subsided, that everyone is still looking forward to what the New Year will bring, and that you’re all still checking In on me. Talk to you. xoxo
Happy New Year! My first official blog entry since arriving on the new continent. A new year, a new home, a new challenge. Here’s to all of the adventure that 2010 holds for all of us!
My goal… to keep this blog up and running. I can already see how easily it could be to slip into the tranquil existence of no outside contact. But this will be the journal of, if nothing else, the interesting and colourful characters that will be passing through this remote dive centre somewhere on the East African coastline. Let’s go back to when I left you guys…
The journey was long, but for the most part, surprisingly uneventful. Almost three complete days from door to door. Ugh. Considering that a silly Nigerian burned himself to bits trying to blow up that Christmas Day flight, three days with no delays was actually incredibly lucky. No need to document the journey as it was merely airports and grouchy people, but there were one or two highlights…
Sadly, my lodging in London was close to the airport, miles and miles from anything or anywhere else. The three block walk from my hotel to the local Tesco mini mart was sadly stereotypical; drizzly grey, lots of litter in the streets, and many sketchy looking characters in tracksuits flitting about with a cigarette jammed in their mouths as they shouted into cell phones with random “alright! alright!” and “bloody hell”s here and there. And not a pretty set of teeth between them all.
Heathrow airport is a complete nightmare. Complete. However, good fortune was on my side once again as the short lineup for Egypt Air and the checking in of all of my book laden bags without extra charge was surprisingly efficient. I have to admit that my white girl, media-hyped, slightly overwhelmed brain was a little bit on watchdog mode as all of the communication quickly switched from English to Arabic. The airport announcements or reports from the captains on the planes would go on for 5 solid minutes in Arabic, then a 3 second “please fasten your seat belt, enjoy your flight” English translation. Come on now. I’ve lived in Asia, we’ve all seen the mis-dubbed kung fu films, yeah, some languages take a little longer than others to get their point across, but this is ridiculous. Who knows what the cool Arabic kids got to talk about behind our English speaking backs but I made it here in one piece, and that’s all I really cared about.
Going through a “security check” in Cairo was interesting… they took some water bottles, and not others, even though we were already in the secure zone, they let me keep my nice sharp plastic knife that I had forgotten about and shoved in my carry on, and when I beeped going through the scanner, the security guy motioned to this bored and very disinterested looking woman sitting behind him. She was slouching and yawning in a randomly placed chair, holding one of the magic metal detector wands loosely in her lap. I paused, but she remained seated. Really? You’re not even going to get up?! So I walked the few steps over to where she couldn’t be bothered to drag her ass up from her mighty plastic throne to check for explosive devices, she waved her magic wand over my front, it beeped, and she did the… “pfft. Get out of here”, hand dismissal wave. I stood there with my mouth open for a few seconds, shook my head, and moved on. I guess no one has any intentions of blowing up planes going INTO the Middle East.
Blah, blah, blah… arriving in Dar es Salaam, capital city of Tanzania. You know that cool map movie thing that plays on most flights as you’re travelling? Gives you the time to destination, miles to destination, outside temperature, how high you are flying, etc? Ummm… yeah. The last outside breath of air I had was in London, where I wore my puffy down jacket to the store. I knew I was heading to Africa, so dressed in layers accordingly, but as we were descending, what caught my attention was the temperature. As we re-entered our lovely atmosphere, we quickly jumped from -51C to +16C. We are landing as the sun is rising, just after 6 am. And we descend, lower, temperature, higher, higher. Still at 750m and we’re already up to 26C. Oh s**t. Yes, I can hear you all rolling your eyes … I know it’s Africa, I know it’s hot, but you can just never really prepare for it.
A driver was waiting for me, very happy man holding up a hand-printed Swahili Divers sign, and I was giddy on a combination of extreme over-tiredness and complete and udder disorientation. The plan was that I would go to a hotel where I could most likely get a discounted day rate, sleep for a few hours, and shower before starting the little plane journey over to the islands. The drive into the city was hot and slow so it allowed me to replay so many fond scenes of my beloved Thailand. Busy streets, someone always selling something up and down in between traffic, swarms of people walking, running, biking, from one place to the next, and minibuses dangerously crammed with seas of sweaty faces and random items of necessity tied to any available space. The differences… darker skin and colourful wrap-like clothes. Oh! And the superstar women walking with 100 pound baskets of food, papers, or whatever perched firmly on their heads. Very, very impressive. THAT, I have to learn!
A hot, sweaty, confusing drive and we end up at one place, no clean rooms. Head down to the next one, and paid $20US, no discount! for the sketchiest little ickfest that compelled me to place a chair under the doorknob despite it being the middle of the day. Laid some of my own things over the stained and torn sheets and pillow and attempted sleep. A continuous stream of hammer banging on pipe, shouts and foreign conversation, and a nagging sense that the lock on my door was being tried a couple of times kept me from any rest. I braved the bathroom, oh you just can’t imagine, and checked out by noon to be taken back to the airport. The drive was less than a half an hour each way and I was charged a hefty sum of $50US. I was in Dar es Salaam less than 5 hrs and spent $70US. Folks, I have quickly learned that Africa is NOT cheap.
Domestic airport. Typical. No plane ticket upon arrival, not typical. The airline I was supposed to fly had no internet so sent me to another airline. Nope, you’re not on our list of reservations. Back to the first one, oh, yeah, here you are, who is paying for your ticket? No, no, it has already been paid for. Look of disappointment. Oh. Okay, we leave at 2:45pm. (even though tickets said 2pm). Welcome to Africa. Chatted up all of the airline staff (hmmm… maybe all of about 6 people INCLUDING the pilot!) coming in and out of the office-sized room that was their waiting area. One of the porters weighs my bags, tells me I have to pay. I drop the names of the resort owners and their boss who runs the airline, they make a phone call, and I don’t have to pay. More disappointed looks. So I wait. And wait. And wait.
Much, much later 7 westerners walk out to the tarmac and onto an 8 seater plane. Small, old, dingy bits and pieces held together with string and duct tape. But we make it to Zanzibar in 20 mins. Off, wait at Zanzibar, then move on to the big plane about an hour later, about 17 of us on a 20 seat plane. Gulp. I was dying from heat and exhaustion (are you picking up on the common factor here?!) so no fear laced adrenaline rush, no fingernails in the palms of my hands, I closed my eyes and did the mouth open sleep for probably a good, solid 15 minutes. We arrive in Pemba 30 minutes after we left Zanzibar.
Walking on the tarmac is always such an interesting event in these countries, dodging random parked and trying to park planes. Safety is just an entirely different concept. Entirely. While waiting for the luggage to be carted off the plane, a sweetheart of a kiwi with the best smile EVER plops himself down to wait. He and another girl who were on the plane had met climbing Kilimanjaro and came here together. Wow. Impressive, impressive, impressive. The kiwi was planning on coming to my resort to do some diving, the girl was open to plans so came along. I offered my driver, being the presumptuous person that I am, and we were all soon speeding through the little towns and villages on the hour long trip to the northern point of the island.
This Africa has parts of what I had imagined, and more parts of SE Asia. “Villages” with mud / clay huts and thatched roofs, half clothed children, small random collections of odd buildings with random things, and lots and lots of people just sitting, as there’s nothing else to do. Wherever there’s a bit of shade, you would see people just sitting, watching, seemingly waiting, and still doing nothing. But it’s the coast, and a very healthy coast, so the full green of the tropics covered everywhere I looked – enormous and green and green and green. Slightly disappointing as it wasn’t completely new conce, but comforting at the same time. It was surreal.
My home… well, I’ve got to get some pictures up. This isn’t Africa. This isn’t toughing it. This is just dreamy. Right on the beach, quaint open concept resort, it’s is simply amazing, amazing, amazing. There’s no way that pictures will do it justice, but oh my gosh, I will try. It has been an interesting few days but this is already ridiculously long so I should get it posted. I’ve done a bit of teaching, two dives, and already been involved in a scandal that will cost me around $300US. 4 days in and drama already. Sigh. The owners are instantly lovable, feels like family already, but had my first break down this afternoon. Happy New Year to me. Tomorrow is another day, this is Africa, they keep telling me, and nothing is right unless everything is all effed up, so I soldier on. I’ll get some more of the details out soon but for now, I just wanted to let everyone know that I’m still alive. I welcomed 2010 under a full African moon on the beach with a glass of champagne in my hand toasting some of the most interesting of people, and I am still looking forward to everything that this new year has to offer, good, bad, ugly, and everything in between.
Hope the hangovers have somewhat subsided, that everyone is still looking forward to what the New Year will bring, and that you’re all still checking In on me. Talk to you. xoxo
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